


Angel On Your Pillow - Devil In Your Shadow

by Salios



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: AU, Cuddling, Fantasy, Fluff, M/M, Massive amounts of fluff, Q is very lonely, Sass, Sexual Frustration, Smut, a bit of smut, he likes cats, romantic longing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-24 21:42:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 43,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salios/pseuds/Salios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a rainy Tuesday when Q had found it, him, whatever. While London was known for it's altogether terrible weather the rain that day had been particularly dedicated to drowning anyone and anything outside. Which was probably why, in all honesty, that Q took pity on the wretched thing.<br/>Q had expected hairballs, male posturing, and to go bald from ripping his hair out in fits of barely suppressed rage.<br/>But this? Oh, he hadn't expected this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I hope I'm not posting this prematurely, what with everything else I have to work on. But this has been a few months in the making and I really wanted to share. This is only a teaser and I'd absolutely love to hear feedback! Especially what you'd love to see later on.  
> Find me on Tumblr if you'd like to chat:  
> salios.tumblr.com  
> (or the RP blog I have yet to make use of) qbranchoverlord.tumblr.com
> 
> Thanks to BadwolfBadwolf, TheHildy, Only_1_Truth, and several other lovely people for keeping me sane and supplying copious amounts of hugs as I worked on this.  
> Comments are love and inspiration!  
> 

1.

It was a rainy Tuesday when Q had found it, him, whatever. While London was known for it's altogether terrible weather the rain that day had been particularly dedicated to drowning anyone and anything outside. Which was probably why, in all honesty, that Q took pity on the wretched thing. He'd just come from the Tube, barely a half pace from the last step up from the station, when Q had spotted the cat. It was a mangy thing; all dirty, matted fur dotted with bald patches.

Though Q was under the protection of the overhang outside the Tube entrance, the cat was instead off to the side and directly under the deluge of water. Its ears, a rather unfortunate pair that were too large for the already admittedly large cat, were flattened to its skull. The poor thing looked absolutely miserable. Q shuffled over a bit so that while still under the protection of the coloured sheet metal he was away from the flow of traffic. He sat down on his haunches, forearms resting on his knees, and watched the cat. Beautifully pale eyes stared back at Q.

The young genius tugged his messenger bag around, settling it on his thighs and pulling open the velcro flap. He glanced up at the cat as he worked and found the beast still watching. Its head was tilted slightly to the side in a mimicry of human curiosity, one ear pricked upwards. Q smiled and pulled free what he’d been looking for. He held up the tightly wrapped leftover half of his tuna sandwich.

“Hello there...” With deft fingers Q unwrapped the last of the sandwich and pulled off a piece. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing out in weather like this, hmm?” He scooched forward a bit until he could feel the first few drops of rain against his head. Q extended his hand with the bit of bread and tuna between his fingers towards the cat. “What do you say, come in out of the rain and have some yummy tuna, yeah?”

The cat watched Q’s fingers, eyes flicking back and forth from his face to the morsel of food becoming steadily wetter as it was held out in the rain. The cat didn’t move, though its ears twitched. The Quartermaster held his hand out as long as he could before his arm protested. He sighed and as his hand drooped the cat stood. With careful, measured steps the beast padded from the rain and into Q’s space, its pale blue eyes catching his own. Gently, with excruciating slowness, the feline reached forward and plucked the soggy bread and tuna mixture from Q’s fingers with the tips of its teeth. With a toss of its pale head the cat swallowed the treat and licked its lips.

Then, without preamble, the cat jumped up onto Q’s lap. Q, with the addition of what was likely two stone of soaking feline, lost his balance and fell back onto his rump. Though he managed not to crush his satchel, the brunette’s tailbone was a bit worse for wear from the impact. The cat, matted fur and dirt and all, pressed against Q’s face, purring. The Englishman stuttered out a half-hearted protest before giving up. He laughed when the cat put its paws on both of Q’s shoulders and gently butted its head against Q’s forehead. Q grinned and pressed a gentle kiss to the cat’s face, only then remembering that the heavy ball of purring feline on his lap was indeed a stray and had likely rolled in any manner of disgusting things before Q had met it.

Q sighed, scratching behind one pale ear, and contemplated what to do. His flat didn’t have a policy against pets, though he’d never owned one. But he wasn’t equipped to own a cat, even if the cat in question _was_ content to be his pet. Looking at the broad, scarred body, Q doubted such a beast would be content with being kept indoors and away from juicy prey. He pressed his palms to either side of the cat’s face and tilted it up. Green met blue and he smiled sadly, resigned to leaving the poor thing out in the terrible weather rather than cage it.

“Let me just say, you’re the most handsome beast I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.” The purr that elicited was almost obscene in volume. Q laughed. “I very much want to take you home with me, though I don’t think you’d much enjoy being a house cat. You don’t come across as the domestic type.” He stroked one palm down the cat’s back, eliciting another deep, rumbling purr. Q’s smile drooped a bit; he was inordinately upset over losing a companion he hadn’t really even had for ten minutes. “Honestly, I don’t want to leave you out here; you should be somewhere warm with a soft bed, tasty food, and ample amounts of belly rubs.” The feline’s purrs abruptly ended and the pale head snapped up from where it had fallen to press against Q’s chin. The large ears perked straight up and pale blue eyes wide. If Q hadn’t known better he would have sworn the cat was surprised. But, it was only a cat...

“Ah... food?” The cat cocked its head slightly. “Warm bed?” One ear twitched. “...Belly rubs...?” Q yelped as the cat jerked forward, its face nearly pressed to Q’s, and yowled. Loudly. The purring began again, in earnest, and Q laughed. “Alright, alright, you know what belly rubs are. I suppose that means you were someone’s pet at one time, hmm?” He scratched one ear again, his grin having returned. “So how about this, I take you home and you try me out, yeah? If you don’t like me, or my flat, you don’t have to stay; though I really wish you would.” The cat responded by rubbing its face against Q’s again, still purring.

Q laughed and with a bit of effort he stood. The prickle of sharp claws puncturing his parka was worth the feel of the damp, heavy body pressed to the Quartermaster’s chest. Q unzipped his parka and gently coaxed the pale feline inside, zipping it back up once the ball of matted fur was settled. He tugged his umbrella from his satchel and snapped it open.

He looked down, eyes again meeting the pale arctic orbs of the cat, and smiled. “Alright then, home we go!” Q raised his umbrella and stepped into the rain.

 


	2. Chapter 2

2.

The walk to his flat was a short one made mostly in silence. Occasionally Q would talk at the cat, giving his opinion on places or people they passed. The cat would respond by snuggling deeper into the confines of Q’s parka and purring. The boffin was fine with that.

He managed to unlock the door to his flat without dropping his umbrella or new flatmate and didn’t move to put the cat down until he’d locked the door behind them. He left the satchel on a hook by the door and the umbrella on the rubber mat underneath. A few steps later his shoes were kicked off in the general direction of the front hall closet with the parka following. He’d clean up later. Once in the kitchen Q attempted to ease the still purring cat onto the kitchen table.

With no success.

The stubborn feline had dug its claws into Q’s oversized cardigan and was refusing to let go. Each attempt at prying the claws free was met with a nip of sharp teeth. The bites were gentle but still stung. Q’s last ditch effort, which was literally just to pull the cat away by its belly, was met with a low warning growl. Q sighed, wrapped his arms back around the cat, and went about his evening routine.

You win some, you lose some.

After filling the kettle and setting it aside for tea a bit later on, Q slouched into his living room and flopped onto the couch, much to the annoyance of the cat. It growled and tapped its paw against the tip of Q’s nose. They sat like that for a moment. Q, slouched so far onto the sofa that his arse almost hung off the edge and the cat perched on his chest, one massive paw curled around the tip of its new master’s nose. Shocked green eyes stared into amused arctic blue. And then Q burst into unrestrained laughter.

He wrapped his arms around the cat and squeezed, gently, hugging the feline to his damp cardigan-clad chest. “You’re a cute little shit, aren’t you?” Q pressed a kiss to the feline’s nose and laughed again as the pale thing went cross eyed to watch. “And silly, too. I can’t very well get us food or into bed with you hanging on like a limpet, now can I?” The cat huffed and retracted its claws. With one haughty glance at Q, the stray jumped from the boffin’s chest and onto the next cushion. “You’re also a little too smart for your own good.” The brunette rubbed his chest, the cat was rather heavy after all, and stood. “I’ll just go change, be right back.” He pulled the cardigan, and the button down beneath, over his head as he rounded the couch.

A strangled mewl halted Q from continuing down the hall towards his bedroom. He turned back to the couch, bare chested and adjusting his glasses. The cat, _his_ cat, was perched on the back of the couch. The cat’s mouth hung open and one paw was extended towards Q, digits splayed. Q cocked his head to the side and smiled. With a flick he tossed the bundle of damp clothing onto a free chair and strode back to the couch. With careful fingers he caught the cat’s paw and held it. The digits closed over the tip of Q’s thumb and squeezed. Grinning, the Quartermaster bent and pressed his forehead to the feline’s. A reciprocating nudge later Q pulled back. He scratched behind one pert ear, turned, and strode towards his bedroom.

Unsurprisingly, the cat followed.

“I really need to figure out a name for you, I can’t in good conscience continue to call you ‘cat’. That doesn’t seem right.” Q turned from his dresser to the bed, where his new addition was perched comfortably. “Hmm...” Q drew close to the beast, peering into pale blue eyes as though everything he needed to know would be there. “You,” he stood back, grinning, “Look like an Annabelle.”

_“Mrr~ **ow!”**_

Q tossed his head back and laughed. He wasn’t at all concerned with the level of intellect his new pet had shown; he was likely anthropomorphizing.  “Alright, alright, maybe not Annabelle.” A glance back towards the bed revealed the cat had turned to direct its backside at Q, a pair of fuzzy testicles on display. Q choked on his laugh. “Okay, you’ve made your point, you’re a boy.” He stepped forward and stroked a hand down the feline’s matted back. “You’re a very pretty boy, aren’t you.” A purr was his answer.

“So, Annabelle is out, what else... Hmm...” Q tapped a finger against his pursed lips, watching at the feline turned and flopped onto the bed, belly up, paws grasping at the air. Q dropped onto the bed beside his new pet and began to knead his fingers into the snarled belly fur on display. “What about Lawrence? No, that isn’t right, Lance? No, too, I don’t know - it isn’t a very cattish name is it.” Q hummed as he stroked from chest to hip. On one pass his hand must have dipped too low or pulled on sensitive fur as he found himself with the blonde’s teeth sunk into the webbing between his thumb and forefinger. Q hissed and jerked his hand free. He glared down at the cat, who stared back with pale, stubborn eyes. A slow smirk drew across Q’s face. “I know _exactly_ what I should call you.” He grinned and touched the tip of his index finger to the once-stray’s nose, “You and he, a co worker of sorts to me, are scarily similar.” A twitch and the cat tilted its head, curious.

“Bond, James Bond.”

\------

Q expected the newly named James to either purr, or not give a damn about his new name. Instead the newly named James jerked away and all but flopped off the bed. Only Q’s quick hands kept the startled feline from flailing and falling from the mattress. Q laughed and lifted James to lay the cat in the crease of his thighs. The tomcat’s back paws were pressed against Q’s bare stomach, tail twitching between them and against James’ belly fur. His front paws were left hanging in the air. He directed an unamused stare up at his human, who responded with a fond look and a belly rub. Quickly enough James was back to being a puddle of happy cat-goo in the Quartermaster’s lap.

Happier than he had been in months, Q didn’t think twice about all but folding himself in half to press his face into James’ belly. The tomcat stiffened at the first rub of Q’s nose and then _melted_. Had he been less cat and more semi-soluble dessert, James would have been a literal puddle of happy-cat in Q’s lap. Instead the feline resorted to kneading his paws into Q’s mop of dark curls, purring happily. His back paws did the same clench and release against Q’s stomach, his tail brushing happy little trails across the young man’s chest. Q stayed buried in the grimy, short fur for another moment before withdrawing. His cheeks were pink and his eyes all but shone with happiness. He grinned down at James and pressed a quick kiss to one paw.

“Alright then! I hate to cut this short but we, and by that I specifically mean you, need a bath.” James froze in Q’s lap. “I know kitties don’t like bathes,” he rubbed James’ belly again, noting the quickly diminishing slice of blue as James’ eyes narrowed. “But you...well, you smell a bit off.”

James promptly rolled to all fours, turned, and batted a thankfully claw-less paw against Q’s mouth.

Q blinked, startled, while James growled, his tail lashing angrily behind him. The not-housecat stood on its hind legs to place both paws on Q’s mouth and pressed its face to Q’s. James growled again, low and promising bad things should Q continue along this route. Or, at least that’s the impression Q garnered from the massive cat’s narrowed eyes and bristling fur.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I hadn’t meant to offend.” He mumbled the words from around the press of James’ large paws, his own hands held up, palms out. “I just, I don’t know where you’ve been, and your belly kinda,” a hint of a growl crept up from James’ throat, “Ah... you know what? Never mind! Your belly is perfect as is! Really!” The young man laughed weakly, suddenly conscious that he’d brought home nigh on two and a half stone of possibly ill-meaning, stray cat. Q gulped, nostrils flaring. A moment of terror inducing eye-contact later, James dropped back to all fours and then onto the carpet of Q’s bedroom floor.

But not before dragging the length of his tongue up from Q’s chin and over the young man’s lips.

The Quartermaster watched his new flatmate-slash-pet saunter from the room. He snorted once, and before long he was all but rolling across his bedcovers, breathless with laughter. If only the real James Bond knew just how perfectly matched he was in this cat.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James is very, -very- sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a side note, if you wanted a visual:  
> http://i1123.photobucket.com/albums/l551/Saliosrose/Kitty%20Bond/wetkittyjames.jpg

3.

Q, still feeling rather grimy after a day (or was it two? He couldn’t remember) and twenty minutes walking home, in the rain, with a dirty, wet cat stuck to his chest, felt that he rather desperately needed a shower. Preferably a hot shower. But with hot water apparently not being included in the readily available amenities for his building, a lukewarm shower would have to do. He quickly undid his belt and shucked off both his trousers and pants, tossing both into the laundry bin just outside the bathroom door. He turned the taps, hoping to get something other than ice water, and discarded his glasses on the sink counter. A tentative pass of his palm under the showerhead proved that while not exactly hot, the temperature was at least unlikely to cause hypothermia. At least not yet.

Q hopped in, briefly sighing in pleasure as the water coursed down his back and neck. He enjoyed the patter of droplets against his skin for a moment before snatching his shampoo from the floor of the bath and starting in on his birds’ nest. His employees were perpetually debating why their branch head kept his hair so long, and surprisingly none had even come close to guessing right. Simply put, Q’s hair was so very _very_ curly that unless he kept his locks long he looked as though a toddler had gone to town on him with a pair of safety scissors and a bottle of white glue. Really, it was terrible. Apparently him having some hideous deformity under the mop, or a pair of cat ears in addition to his human pair was more likely.

As the Quartermaster massaged conditioner into his scalp, humming all the while, something large and decidedly furry pressed against one of his calves. Q promptly yelled bloody murder (re: screamed in a pitch that he would never admit to being capable of), jumped, slipped, and fell. He landed on his tailbone in a sprawl and swore. While thankful he hadn’t managed to dash his head into a bloody pulp against the wall tile, he wasn’t exactly pleased. Q lay back on the tile and closed his eyes with a sigh.

“ _Mrrah?”_

Q stared up into the, oddly enough, concerned face of James. The tomcat stood beside Q’s head, stocky body blocking the majority of the spray that still fell from the showerhead. James meowed again, much softer than any of his previous vocalizations. He, to Q’s addled brain, looked rather apologetic. Q raised one pruning hand to brush against James’ slick head. The feline butted up into the touch, but didn’t look or move away from Q. He mewed again and bent to press his pink nose against Q’s forehead.

Q blinked and stroked down James’ neck. “It’s alright, James, no harm done. Just, maybe try not to kill me in the shower, yeah?” He chuckled weakly and sat up, wincing. James padded around to Q’s thigh and placed one paw on top, pale eyes still caught on Q’s pained grimace. He ruffled the cat’s neck fur. "Silly bugger.” He dragged the fingers of his free hand back through his own dark locks, slicking them against his skull to spike out at the back of his head. "I suppose now I have to share my shower with you, hmm?" James replied by crawling into the loose circle formed by Q's legs. "Right then," he reached across the shower and grasped the bottle of shampoo. Pouring a small dollop into his palm, Q began the process of lathering up his oddly happy, and very wet, cat.

James, for all his playful swatting and generally antagonistic nature, was a perfect angel as Q washed him. So very unlike a certain double-oh. If Q made it clear he needed James to be at a different angle, the feline would shift to accommodate. His only complaint was when Q attempted to wash his chest, just above one particularly painful looking scar. James mewed and pressed Q's hand away with a paw, nuzzling into the young man's neck as if in apology.

\----

With James' fur scrubbed clean and smelling faintly of coconut, Q finished up his own washing and carefully stepped out from the shower stall. James followed at a respectable distance and was all too happy to let Q towel him dry. He gave little kisses to his new owner's jaw once sat on Q's lap and wrapped in the towel. Q chuckled and pressed a few back; one to the tip of James' nose leaving the tomcat cross eyed again.

“Hmm, as well behaved are you seem to be, I should probably take some precautions.” Q slid James off his lap and onto the white duvet, still wrapped in his cream coloured towel. Quickly dressing in pajamas, Q retreated to the kitchen where he gathered some tinfoil, newspapers, and an old towel. He snatched up a bowl as well and padded into the loo though a door set off from the living room.

He ripped off two large sheets of aluminum and fashioned the thin metal into a shallow tray. The old towel was folded and pressed into the tray only to be covered with the newspaper and tucked in. He nudged the impromptu litter box into the corner of the room across from the toilet. Q filled the bowl with water and left it on the counter before retreating to the bedroom.

James, the little shit, had wriggled around until he resembled a furry burrito. Q could see his paws pressing against the towel as his head fell back over the side of the bed. He stared up at Q with wide, icy eyes, ears rigid.

_“...Mrmmrrrr…?_

Q clapped a hand over his mouth and snorted. James hadn’t been in his life for more than three hours and the boffin was quickly becoming attached to the big tom. Shaking his head Q descended on the feline and picked him up, towel and all. James grumbled and wriggled about only to slump in Q’s arms with a huff. Q showed him the bowl of water and reluctantly unwrapped his pet to introduce him to the litter box. As Q squatted down to eye-level James made a show of twitching his tail agitatedly before hopping into the box, doing a circuit, and hopping back out. He ducked between Q’s spread legs and unbalanced Q enough that the boffin yelped and flailed to keep his balance.

He stood and stretched, feeling joints shift and pop. It was far past his bedtime. Actually, a few _days_ past his bedtime. He yawned and staggered from the loo, shutting off the light as he went out into the living room.

For once, and this didn't happen often, Q forwent his evening cuppa. Instead, he shut off the lights, checked his front door, and armed his security before crawling into bed. His loose pajama bottoms and oversized t-shirt were obscenely comfortable. James seemed to be caught between endearment, fascination, and disgust over the garments. He plucked at the worn cotton with a taloned paw as though offended, sniffed at the gathered material, and then nuzzled into Q's chest. Eventually he curled into a tight ball beside Q's head, sharing the pillow. Obviously the young man's choices weren't as horrible as James initially expressed. One back paw stayed curled in the loose cotton at Q's throat, his tail nestled around the slim man's neck.

James' deep purrs lulled Q to sleep, the feline following quickly as the sounds of soft breathing broke over him like waves from the sea.

 

\-----

 

At twelve minutes past four in the morning, Q's mobile -which was keyed to alerts from the systems and staff at MI6- began to blare its warning klaxons. The brunette, who had been sleeping in the fetal position spooned around his new pet, woke with a cry.

Q was a deep sleeper, usually. It was fairly common for the brunette to go days without sleep, catching only an hour or two in his office chair or in the break room when the Q-branch minions banded together to cart him to the sofa. As such, the cacophony of sound would usually take a few moments to wake him. Sometimes it took a second round of blaring sirens to even make him move. This time, not so much.

James hadn’t expected to be woken by such inhuman sounds. As such he scrambled up from between Q’s arms, wickedly sharp claws finding purchase in the young man’s flesh. It wasn’t until he stood on Q’s chest, the brunette having flipped over in an attempt to avoid James’ mad flailing, that James fully woke from his panic fueled response. James’ back was arched, sleek fur bristling, and tail lashing. He snarled at the phone as it tottered across Q’s bedside table less than six inches away. He glared at the piece of technology for a moment before stiffening. With visible effort James relaxed until only the minute twitching of his tail betrayed his ire. The tomcat turned to look down at his human, who stared back with wide, slightly frightened eyes. James eyes dropped from Q’s face and the cat’s ears flattened.

In his instinctual response to fight or flee, James hadn’t given a thought to his squishy bed partner. His claws had shredded the soft inner flesh of Q’s forearms and along the backs. In his haste to find a higher position to defend or attack from, he raked his claws over Q’s chest. While none of the wounds were particularly deep, there were many. They bled sluggishly in thick droplets that stained his shirt and sheets bright crimson in places.

Q’s breathing was hitched as he inhaled. He didn’t want to spook James, wary of a repeat performance. James mewled and slowly, gently, stepped from Q’s chest. He moved a few paces away and slumped onto one side. With another mewl he bared his throat and belly, eyes apologetic.

It took Q a moment to sit upright, hissing in pain, and attempting to stem the worst of the wounds with his tattered shirt. He shifted carefully away from James to sit on the edge of the bed. With one hand he grabbed his phone and unlocked it, only glancing back at James once. His fingers left red smears across the smooth surface of the Smartphone and the tomcat mewled again, one paw reaching out to knead the air, his long tail tucked between his legs. Q made to twist around only to stop with a sharp breath and a pained grimace. More carefully, he shifted his entire body so that one leg was curled back onto the mattress. He looked over at James, who wriggled until his furry body was all but touching Q’s thigh.

Q didn’t reach out to pet James, though he looked as though he wanted to. Instead, he lifted the bloody phone, ignoring the smears, and pressed the green ‘dial’ button. As he held the phone to his ear, the Quartermaster’s green-grey eyes didn’t move from James’ submissive form. James didn’t so much as twitch.

“What’s happened?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q-branchers are kinky people, and James is an adorable little shit (emphasis on 'little shit').

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I'm still looking to hear what you'd like to see; who knows, I might need to make some additions before this is done! You can also find me on Tumblr at Salios.tumblr.com !

4.

Apparently Double-Oh-Three had somehow managed to get himself caught by the human trafficking ring he’d been sent to investigate. It was also becoming apparent that the leaders of this particular ring, or at least the few tasked with questioning Three on the who, what, why, and where of it were also very kinky people. Q had heard something about nipple clamps and a riding crop before cutting his minion off and ordering a car to be sent to his flat. Really, while people assumed that Q-branchers were naive little virgins there were very few that weren’t in some way kinky. That particular minion had sounded rather...wistful as he’d begun to explain what Three had already been subjected to. Correction: Q-branchers, as a whole, were _very_ kinky people. It likely had to do with the amounts of caffeine they ingested daily and unrestricted internet access, but Q wasn’t complaining.

He hung up on his minion, he’d have to apologize and let the poor disillusioned fanboy tell his story in detail later on, and tossed the phone. It bounced off of the pillow he’d previously occupied and settled between he and James, who was still not quite touching Q’s leg. The cat started slightly and then shifted to sniff at the bloodied phone. Well, that was something else he’d have to take care of; he couldn’t in good conscience leave his tech all bloodied up, it wasn’t proper. Q carefully eased himself up from the bed, only hissing slightly, and tottered to the loo. He shut the door behind him.

As he set about cleaning and bandaging his surprisingly deep cat scratches, the Quartermaster made a point of ignoring the plaintive mewling and pawing at the door.

\-----

It wasn’t until Q had already pulled open the door to his flat, fully dressed and bandaged, that he realized he had a problem. James had been all sweet mews and pitiful air-pets with his massive paws, claws tucked away, as he’d gotten ready. Now, the pale tomcat sat on his haunches, tail limp and ears drooping, not five feet away. He couldn’t exactly leave James alone. While he didn’t expect the feline to go stir-crazy and destroy the furniture, and computer equipment, he didn’t have a litter box or food to leave behind. Q chewed on his lower lip in thought for a moment, awkwardly shifting the strap of his satchel as it rubbed a cut wrong. Finally, he sighed and dropped his head back, arms hanging like lead.

“James...” Q groaned, voice raspy and resigned.

“... _Mrah_?”

Q sighed again and lifted his head to look at his new pet. James was on all fours, well, threes really. He had one paw raised as though reaching out, his fuzzy toes kneading the air again. Q had begun to take the motion as a sign of either affection or need, though he figured they were interchangeable given James _was_ in fact a cat. Wide arctic blue eyes stared up at him, James’ white whiskers twitching. Q unzipped his parka and carefully knelt, wary of his injuries. Really, if he’d brought home a smaller, less manic pet he likely wouldn’t have suffered so many cuts, or at least cuts that weren’t so deep.

“You have one more chance, love.” He made sure to stare into James’ eyes, wanting the cat to understand perfectly well what he was saying. “I can’t keep you if you’re going to hurt me.” James mewled and sunk to the ground. He crawled forward on his belly until he was just before Q’s knees. Then, in likely the most undignified, graceless movement Q had ever seen, he flopped over to show his belly again, one paw coming up to gently tap Q’s knee. The brunette sighed and slowly reached out to tangle his fingers in the soft strands of James’ belly fur. “Just...just don’t do it again...please?” His voice broke a bit at the end, and he coughed to cover it. “Alright, up you come.”

James scrambled up onto all four paws and hopped onto Q’s knees. From there he stepped into the opening of Q’s coat and balanced on his hind paws, fronts on Q’s shoulders and clenched in the fabric. Even as Q half-zipped his coat and stood, one hand settled underneath James’ bum and against the back of his legs, the feline didn’t unsheath his claws.

\-------

It was a matter of sending a text while en route and having one of his minions pop out to pick up the necessary supplies. By the time Q reached his office a rather nice, rather _pink,_ litter box and pet bed at been set up. A matching water-food dish combo, decorated in rhinestones and also horrendously pink, were nestled in the back corner beside the bed. And, the pièce de résistance was the powder pink, rhinestone bedazzled collar perched on Q’s desk.

He had to give his minions credit, they knew exactly where to take a mile, almost as well as where they knew to give. Of course the give portion was usually when Q was running on a half hour’s rest over the course of three days and he was still _without his damn tea!_ But really, they’d outdone themselves.

Q set James down on the desk and quickly attached the glitzy collar, swiping at the matching bell with a fingertip. James glared at him and, other than a low growl, the worst he did was swatt at Q’s nose when the brunette made one too many comments about how the pink brought out the colour of his fur. James did a cursory inspection of Q’s office before head-butting his human’s calf, crooning out half a meow, and taking up residence on the annoyingly soft bed. After, of course, tearing the pink fabric with his claws and doing a pleased circuit of the cushion.

All in a day’s work.

\------

Q’s office door remained open the entire day. This of course meant there was a steady stream of people coming in and out. Most of which were only visiting to get a glimpse of James. The Quartermaster refrained from sharing his pet’s name, much to James’ delight. This prompted his minions to begin drawing up spreadsheets, lists, and pie charts to determine what name their overlord had chosen. Unsurprisingly, no one guessed ‘James Bond’.

James, the smug little bugger, made a point of allowing each minion one pet of his fur before swatting the hand away. Or in one case, attempting to _eat_ the poor minion’s finger. Q had made a point to chide the minion for testing the tomcat’s patience, all the while snickering behind his hand and making pointed glances towards the break room behind James’ back. Let it not be said that Q-branch minions were any less quick than their overlord. Within a matter of moments the minion returned amongst a gaggle of his peers, first timers to visit King James upon his fluffy pink throne. Clasped behind his back was a bright pink water pistol. After shooing the minions out and closing his door, Q, still mindful of his own injuries, shuffled away from James and pulled the pistol.

The cat simply looked at him as though his human had quite literally gone mad. That was, until Q shot a stream of water into James’ face from ten paces. The tomcat yowled and flailed, standing on his hind legs to swat at the broken stream and ultimately falling from the desktop in a tumble of pale fur and spitting feline. Q, upon hearing the tell tale _thump_ of James impacting the ground, slumped to the linoleum of his office floor and died.

Well, not literally, but he came damn close. Q laughed until he couldn’t breathe. And then until he was nauseous. And even after that he laughed until tears were streaming down his cheeks and he was a laughing, sobbing ball on his office floor. Once the last of the giggles had gone, leaving behind a vicious case of the hiccups, Q plucked his glasses from where they’d fallen to the floor and tucked them back over his ears. He then promptly squeaked in terror. James stood, in all of the wet, cowlicked glory that was his, before Q’s face. His too big ears were pinned back and his pale eyes narrowed. His whiskers had even pressed back along his face, occasionally twitching. The tip of James’ pink nose was all but touching Q’s, and the brunette could see just the tiniest sliver of white as James parted his mouth.

Q’s wide eyed terror was then interrupted by a hiccup. Which resulted in James giving a little jump back. His ears gone straight up, paws braced and splayed open, and eyes comically large. This, of course, set Q into another round of painful giggling that had him clutching his aching belly. After watching his human degrade into another pile of giggling goo, James huffed and scooched closer to bop a paw against Q’s head. The young man only laughed harder.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hallucinations? Definitely some syrup and sausage. Oh, and a grumpy cat, as always.  
> James Collar: http://www.coolcatcollars.co.uk/user/products/large/pink-glitter-cat-collar-by-ancol-23-p.jpg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any errors here or in previous chapters. I'm going through each chapter before posting to try and catch as many as I can, but some inevitably slip through, regardless. If there's anything painfully, obviously, wrong please let me know!  
> I'm still looking for silly/angsty/smutty suggestions and anyone who may be interested in Brit-picking or attempting to beta my work. Give em a shout via comment or through my tumblr if interested, please!  
> Salios.tumblr.com

5.

It wasn’t until nearly half four the next morning that Q left MI6 with James. The heavy tomcat was once again curled up inside Q’s parka. His soft snoring brought a smile to Q’s lips. It took a bit of work to get back through his front door without dropping James. He shrugged out of his parka and kicked off his shoes, same as before. The big cat was snuggled securely against Q’s chest, the genius’ slim arms supporting his bulk. He’d sent a minion to purchase and deliver what he needed for James. Thankfully the set the underling had chosen was in shades of silver and black. The Quartermaster left the powder pink collar around James’ neck for now, but noted the new silver band on his kitchen table. He locked his door, armed his security, and turned out the lights before padding through the dark flat to his bedroom.

It took much less prodding from Q for James to release his hold on his human this time ‘round. The tomcat stretched, mewed, and promptly retook his place on Q’s pillow, softly purring. The brunette spared a glance at the ball of happy feline before shucking his button down and cardigan. Q took a few moments to clean and rebandage his cuts before putting out the bathroom light and padding to the bed. James grumbled a bit as Q wriggled under his covers. He wrapped the various layers around his legs and torso in a cocoon before tucking the ends in around his neck. Q was perpetually cold, his thin frame and fast metabolism leaving him unable to gain fat or retain heat. So he evened out his temperature by wearing multiple layers and sleeping under fleece sheets and feather duvets meant for the harshest winters.

The young man tilted his head up to nudge at James. A soft mewl and a rasping lick to his forehead were the cat’s version of a goodnight kiss. Q laughed breathlessly and snuggled deeper into his covers. He felt James shift closer until the warm weight of his tomcat’s body was wrapped about his head. The soft tip of James’ tail traced a line from the corner of Q’s eye down and across his lips.

Q smiled, “Sweet dreams, James...”

\----------------------

Sunlight streamed through Q’s bedroom curtains and bisected his pillow, throwing half of Q’s face into shadow. The young man grimaced and rolled over onto his belly in an attempt to escape the evil that was the morning sun. Though it was more that Q _attempted_ to roll over. He was halted almost immediately by a weight across his waist. Q tried again to no avail, his sluggish brain not yet working at full capacity. He blinked open sleepy green eyes and glanced down.

Alright, chest: check. Multitude of bandages: check. Rather thick, muscular forearm latched around his waist: check.

Wait...muscular forearm?

Q may have possibly squeaked, but he most certainly flailed like a drowning rat. He threw himself from the bed in a flurry of covers and landed on the bedroom floor with an _oof!_ It took him another moment to untangle himself from the blankets enough to see; Q popped up from the floor like some deranged gopher itching for a fight. What he’d expected to see, well he wasn’t sure entirely _what_ he expected, but the only other body filling his bed belonged to a sleepy, rumpled, glowering tomcat named James. The cat yowled at Q, his fur mussed, whiskers twitching. One of his adorably large ears drooped off to the side, the other half-heartedly twitching to and fro.

Lots of tangled sheets and an abundance one sleepy kitty, but no man. No man, and no lovely, muscular forearm that could have possibly held him down. Q squinted in an attempt to focus his blurry vision, only to give up after a few seconds. It didn’t matter; no one could have gotten into his apartment without setting off the alarm. And besides, he doubted James was one for sharing. With somewhat of a herculean effort Q crawled back onto his bed, dragging his multitude of blankets behind him. James greeted Q with a sleepy mewl, another yawn, and a nuzzle to Q’s jaw. The boffin ran a hand across his chin, grimacing at the accumulated stubble; he needed to shave and soon. Q rearranged his blankets and curled back up on his side, facing away from his window and towards James.

Q grunted and lifted one corner of his blankets in invitation. James eagerly slunk under his human’s arm and flopped down onto one side. As Q settled the blankets the tomcat wriggled backwards until his spine was pressed flush to Q’s chest and the young man’s arms were partially wrapped about his furry body. Q nestled his mouth and nose in the ruff at the back of James’ neck and breathed deeply, taking in the warm, clean smell that was distinctly James.

“Mm...” Q grunted, already half asleep but still trying to form the words. “Dnnt Leave...L’ove youh...” The words were muttered into the back of James’ head before Q passed out.

He missed the stiffening of James’ body and the quick look the feline shot him; a slack jaw and wide eyes filled with hesitant hope.

\-------

The next time Q woke he was alone. A questing hand patted down the bedding around him, turning up nothing but cool sheets. Well, cool sheets and a warm, furry body that began to purr once patted. James caught Q’s fingers with his paws and nibbled on the tips. As Q tugged his hand back James bit down slightly and then licked the indents, purring. Q chuckled and smiled over at his pet. James yawned.

Groaning, Q rolled from between his covers and to the edge of the mattress. “Shit, oww!” He scrambled to one side and rubbed his left cheek of his arse, wincing. In a neat little pile, glinting faintly, was James’ collar. Q frowned and looked back to his cat, who was lounging happily, head hanging down from the pillow with his paws in the air. “Huh, you’re a nudist, who knew.” James jerked and flipped onto his belly, eyes wide and ears pinned back. Q snorted and ruffled the tom’s head. “I’ll make sure to take it off before bed next time, just keep the bloody thing on during the day, or someone might kidnap you.”

With a casual toss Q left the collar on his night table before standing. He staggered from the bed and to the loo, grabbing his phone on the way. He needed tea, lots of tea. Q sniffed an armpit and exhaled, grimacing; and a shower, he definitely needed a shower.

\----

One thorough washing and several cups of strong tea later, Q sat at his kitchen table thumbing through missed texts and redundant emails. As yesterday’s phone call had come in the middle of his day off (middle of course considering that he had already worked through his initial free day), he’d been given another two as compensation. That meant a whole lot of doing nothing in his pants. And probably cuddling James. Green eyes flicked over to the tomcat who was sunning himself on the other end of the table. James noticed him staring and began to purr, tail curling and uncurling. Q chuckled and reached out to prod the closest of James’ legs. The fur was sleek but dense, the muscle underneath firm. There likely wasn’t an ounce of fat on his pet anywhere. James grunted and wriggled away.

“Hmm...James...?”

“ _Mraah_?”

Q chuckled, “What do you think, breakfast? I doubt you’d want pancakes, but I have more tuna, and some sausage in the freezer. Actually, can you even eat sausage? I certainly don’t want to make you ill.”

James flopped onto his side, head curled under one shoulder. He stared up at Q in wide eyed fascination. The tip of his pink tongue was just barely visible from between his lips. Q barked out a laugh, startling James. He dropped his phone and reached out to collect an armful of cat before dragging the fuzzy beast back. James grumbled and wiggled but didn’t otherwise protest as he was pressed against Q’s chest. The young man buried his face in James’ belly and the cat began to knead his paws into Q’s hair again. It was an oddly comfortable arrangement.

"Alright then, breakfast it is."

\----

After managing to cook a tray of frozen breakfast sausage, half of which was stolen by James, Q actually got to eat. He managed a grand total of four out of eight sausages before it all went to hell. Upon reaching for the maple syrup, his sausages weren't yet swimming and that just wouldn't do, Q's foot went out from under him and he found himself on the floor. His flailing knocked over his plate which then became a rather ugly, rather sticky, hat. James had been curled under the table and therefore was in the splash radius of the syrup.  

That prompted a second shower. James spent most of this one glowering at Q and making an effort to nip at his human's fingers every chance he got. Though for all his grumpy behaviour, not once did James unsheathe his claws. The tomcat actually stared at the healing marks on Q's chest when he wasn't huffing at the long fingered hands gently removing syrup from his fur. He really did look remorseful.

True to his prediction, Q ended up in naught but his pants on the living room couch. Well, his pants and a slanket; he hated the word snuggie with a passion only rivalled by his hatred of apple products. James had taken residence up on the back of the couch, curled in such a way that his long body was essentially a pillow for Q's head. James made several courageous attempts to wash Q's unruly locks with no luck. Finally, on his last failed attempt the tomcat spat out a tuft of Q's curls, snarled, and _whapped_ a paw against the back of his human's head in frustration. Q yelped and sat forward so he could turn and stare, wide-eyed, at James. The tomcat, apparently surprised at himself, alternately stared from his outstretched paw to Q’s face and back. Slowly he tucked the paw under his chest and lowered his head with a mewl. _Sorry_ , his expression said.

Q snorted and promptly burst into giggles. James frowned and pinned back his ears, glaring at his human. The big cat huffed and stood. He stretched out the other paw and pressed it against Q’s nose. Obediently the Quartermaster leant in until James could reach while sitting. James then yowled in Q’s face and tapped his nose gently. Q sniggered and tilted his head back, pressing a kiss to the soft pads of James’ paw. James proceeded to bop Q on the mouth and pretend as though he wasn’t the biggest suck in the world.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is really beginning to wonder if he's on drugs. Or should be.  
> More 'hallucinations', James is (again) a little shit, and angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for my lack of updates on this guys. I had a panic attack two weeks go and literally lost the entire week. My second missed update was most definitely due to pride and editing. So I apologize for both and will be flooring your inboxes with more chapters to compensate for the lack of reading material!  
> If anyone comes across any photos that remind them of Kitty!Bond or Q/Kitty!Bond, feel free to send them over! salios.tumblr.com  
> Sorry again! <3

6.

The second time Q woke to find someone in his apartment who shouldn’t have been, he’d been ‘Banished’. The Quartermaster had been tossed, metaphorically from his own department by a band of his minions led by Eve Moneypenny. _**Mutiny!**_ Apparently going four days without sleep and barely meeting his body’s minimum nutritional needs was frowned upon in a high stress environment. Q had collapsed _into_ his desk while handling a reconnaissance mission with Double-Oh-Two. The hacker could only imagine the panic the sounds of his fall and subsequent silence must have caused. One minute there had been a steady stream of information and direction, a loud _bang_ as Q’s head impacted the corner of his metal desk, and then silence; definitely something to cause panic. And judging by the rather large gash over his right brow, Q doubted his fall has been a silent, graceful one.

Moneypenny had been the one to ferry Q and James home. His pet had apparently forgotten that he was a comparatively small domestic kitty and not some wild jungle cat. Though judging by the mumbling and the wary glances Q had noticed on his way to medical, James had tried his best to prove that notion wrong. The beast hadn't let anyone other than necessary medical staff and Eve approach Q's bedside. MI6’s Quartermaster apparently spent too much time with his double-ohs and after his second escape attempt he had been strapped to the bed. He’d been released upon making a ruckus that had several inpatient double-ohs eyeing him with newfound respect.

\-------

Once home Q had collapsed into bed wearing little more than his boxers. This left a worried tomcat to stalk about his slack frame, searching for a target on which to exert his restless, worry-fueled energy. A pair of Q's patterned slacks were shredded as a result.

\----

Q had slowly woken to firm warmth under one cheek, his head rising and falling gently. Thick fingers carded through Q's hair and for a few bleary moments the boffin was content. Without thinking much about it, he attempted to snuggle further into the warm chest under his cheek, humming. Immediately the hand stilled and began to pull away. He whined and weakly reached out, trying to catch the appendage and drag it back.

"Nuh-uh," he huffed, "Cuddles, now." The young man wrapped a spindly arm around as much of his cuddle-partner as he could, determined to keep them still. He pressed a sleepy kiss to one pleasantly firm pectoral and snuggled back in. He may have been curled atop a very muscular, very _flat chested_ woman. Though it was more likely that he was instead holding hostage a pleasantly broad, incredibly muscular man. He really hoped it was the second. Q hummed again and licked his lips. He would _definitely_ prefer a man.

His flailing arm impacted the greatly missed hand and finger combination on the next swing. Q managed to hook his pinky around one thick finger and proceeded to weakly tug the appendage back towards his head. He _really_ wanted the head scratchies to continue. The brunette managed enough of a coordinated effort to wriggle up his human-pillow's torso, ending with Q's nose pressed to the underside of a stubbled jaw. He inhaled, chest expanding until the hacker was left feeling lightheaded. Q revelled in the scent of clean skin and salt, the faint odour of a cigar long since smoked, coconut, and something distinctly _male_. Q moaned at the mouth watering combination and dug his nose in farther. He couldn’t have been happier. Actually, that was a lie, he could have been. But -

The blunt tips of the man’s fingers dragged up the back of Q’s skull from his nape. There was a pleasant heat against the back of his head as a broad palm pressed the hacker close. He may have actually purred as those fingers tugged at several thick strands of hair, one at a time, before going back to massaging his scalp. He sighed in pleasure and pressed a kiss to the very nice smelling jaw. Q’s right hand began to stroke back and forth along the man’s ribs and waist, sometimes digging in to knead at the warm flesh. Cool, long fingered hands stroked across a flat, hard stomach. Coming across a trail of coarse hair leading from navel to what would undoubtedly delicious and uncharted territory, Q blindly, gently, tugged at the tufts. His hand went as far as the bottom of the man’s abdomen, before the good bits, and stroked back up. Still rather happy with the lazy cuddles he was receiving, Q pressed another kiss to the warm jaw and began to rub absently at the belly with his palm.

His pillow _purred_.

Q giggled, just a bit. He snuggled his face farther into the man’s neck, liking the pull on his hair. He wondered if this was how James -kitty James, not ‘I sleep with whom I want when I want and don’t give me your bitch face about the radio it went to a good cause’ James- would have been as a man. Q hummed at the thought and giggled again. He imagined a tall, broad man with golden blonde hair and a mischievous smirk. His skin would have been decorated with scars and his ears a bit too big, but gorgeous all the same. Gorgeous and _his._ The thought was a sobering one and the young man bit his lip, curling lighter around the calefacient body in his bed. Q doubted there was anything he wouldn’t give -minus England obviously- to have that. Or, at least, someone _like_ that. But here he was, in bed with a head wound and only his ill tempered tomcat for company. Maybe he should get out more. Hallucinating about his cat being human and cuddling him in bed couldn’t be healthy. Maybe a night out spent in someone else’s bed would clear his head. A quick shag to taper the raging inferno of his libido down to a slow burn. He could handle that. Maybe keep it in his pants for another year.

Q blinked, surprised. His lashes fluttered over the man’s skin, drawing forth a soft groan. Had it really been a year since his last shag? Huh, apparently that was a thing now. No sleep, no food, no sex; the joys of employment in Her Majesty’s secret service. The realization of his unintentional celibacy brought Q back to his previous depressing thought of how painfully _single_ he was. He wrapped his legs tighter around the man’s, one thrown over top so he could hook his heel under a gloriously muscled calf. While the Englishman attempted to merge with his hallucinated body pillow the man’s fingers had ceased petting and tugging at Q’s hair.

The man’s right arm, the one that had been carding its fingers through Q’s mop, came around the young man’s waist, pulling him close. The matching limb came around to cup Q’s other side and with only a small grunt of effort he turned their bodies. Q found himself on his left side, head tucked under the still pleasantly stubbled jaw, with his pillow’s arms wrapped around his waist and back. Rather than returning to his hair the fingers began to stroke up and down the length of Q’s spine, sometimes drawing abstract designs.

Before Q’s mind could begin to wander again his hallucination began to hum. It was a deep, rumbling thing, similar to his earlier purr. It began low in his chest, against Q’s heart, before moving outwards and up. Smiling with thoughts far from his rather depressing lack of a social life Q pressed further against the man’s throat, feeling the humm against his lips. He fell asleep like that, tucked against a broad chest listening to the gently hummed lullaby of a hallucination.

\--------------

Unsurprisingly, Q woke to find himself alone in bed. The covers were tangled from his toes to his hips. He had one arm latched around his pillow, the other clutching a loudly purring James. The cat was happily kneading his paws into Q’s hair again, something that was quickly becoming a routine when either were feeling particularly stressed. Or really, when Q was stressed and James wanted his human to stop pacing and be useful. The duo stayed curled together for a while, the code-monkey deep in thought.

It _was_ depressing to consider how long it had been since Q’s last relationship (almost three years now). But he didn’t have the luxury of forming attachments, not with his career. First there was the issue of time; he couldn’t very well be on call for TSS every waking hour and hold together a serious relationship. That wouldn’t be fair to the other person. Hell, it wouldn’t be fair to _Q_. And even if he found someone comfortable with him disappearing for days or weeks at a time then there was the question of clearance. How could he date someone he couldn’t even talk to? His life revolved around his work. All of his accomplishments in the last ten years -gaming not included for obvious reasons- were tied in with MI6. He couldn’t very well tell a date, ‘I blew up a weapons cache in Kazakhstan this morning with only twenty casualties! That’s a new record!’

Q sighed and lifted his head only to drop it back to the pillow with a _poof_ of displaced air. James grumbled and prodded at Q’s face for the trouble. He chuckled and kissed the paw gently tapping at his mouth. Life was lonely, generally, but he wasn’t completely isolated. He had James. And Moneypenny, and Tanner, and his minions. So as much as lacking a body to snuggle up to and eat bad take away with was one empty bit of his life, he had so much more to make up for it. Q tugged James close and hugged the cat tightly with both arms. James squawked and flailed for a second. Then he huffed and bopped Q on the head with both paws before going back to his kitty massage.

For now, he’d be okay.

\---------------

Within a week Q and James formed a routine. Q’s alarm or phone, or both, would go off, and James would do his best impression of a snarling bulldog. The cat would often stand on Q’s chest until the young man became coherent enough to push the feline off, then he would more or less crawl his way into a lukewarm shower and then into clothing. After the fiasco with his favourite pair of checked pants, Q made a point of putting away his laundry. The two would eat some toast and tuna, though on occasion the tuna was on the toast, and Q would bundle James up into his parka before skittering off to work. Or Q would scramble into clothing, cram James into his coat or bag, and make a mad dash for the Tube. His mornings seemed to be 50/50 in regards to which routine they followed.

Today though, James had decided to change their routine. Rather than wake up with Q at the first blaring of the man’s alarm, the cat had instead wriggled from Q’s torso and beneath the pillow. He’d kicked Q when he attempted to remove James from his hidey-hole, and couldn’t even be coaxed out with warm tuna on toast. Q was a bit worried, actually.

“James, c’mon, we have to get going or I’ll be late.” He carefully poked the pads of one exposed paw. The toes wiggled and clenched around the tip of his finger before gently pushing Q’s hand away. The Quartermaster sighed, “ _James_ ,” the cat didn’t even bother to twitch in response. Q scowled, “Fine then, you little brat. See how bored you get being stuck here all on your own.” With that, Q promptly reached under the pillow, hastily -though thoroughly- backcombed James’ fur, and darted away.

He ran out the front door to the sounds of an angrily yowling cat.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ball pits. Minions. Commuting. Bond has competition. James is a pouty cat. Eve.  
> (Oh, and James is a gopher.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is the second update that I promised (that I'm late on, sorry!).  
> Props to zoeteniets, only_1_truth, and badwolfbadwolff for sifting through the mass of this fic and correcting me where I needed it.  
> <3

7.

Q-branch was a mess. Double-ohs Five, One, and Eight had been deployed on separate seek and destroy missions that needed nearly constant supervision. While none of the other agents had quite the destructive streak as Double-Oh-Seven, they were still licenced killers that were easily bored.

Five blew up a block of very expensive, thankfully empty, office buildings. One got caught in a three-some between some foreign minister’s wife and a politician from an opposing party. And while not nearly as disastrous as his fellow agent’s, Double-Oh-Eight _somehow_ managed to get himself stuck in the ball-pit at an exclusive theme-park run by mobsters.

Really, Q couldn’t have made this shit up if you gave him the _really_ good drugs and a mixed drink with one of those funny little umbrellas.

When the combined force of Eve, Tanner, and the Q-branch minions finally converged on Q’s office, he was falling asleep at his desk. Eve told him off, Tanner nodded in his mollifying way, and the majority of the minions somehow managed to pack his bag, feed him some kind of concentrated caffeine, and dress him in his parka before physically carrying him to the nearest Tube entrance. Only slightly off-kilter, Q stumbled down into the station and onto his train.

\-------------

The Tube was packed, as per usual, which left Q squished against his fellow Londoners. As the coached stopped and more passengers pushed onboard, the boffin found himself getting cosy with a rather attractive businessman in a Calvin Klein suit. Q blamed the wardrobe and double-oh departments for him knowing that. Before MI6 he hadn’t been able to tell the difference between a windsor and a half windsor knot, let alone suit brands. He also blamed the aforementioned departments for how his mind noted just how good the taller brunette’s broad shoulders and biceps fit the tailored wool. Or how the charcoal suit and grey tie looked perfect against the man’s tan skin and brown hair. ' _Right, brain, stoppit.'_

On one particularly sharp corner the mass of commuters shifted as one. Sadly for Q, he hadn’t been able to procure a rail or hand strap. This left him yelping and stumbling backwards. The businessman caught the boffin with one arm around his waist and a grin. Q’s face took on every shade of red available in the RGB colour code.

Another turn and accompanying screech of the rails had the taller man’s arm tightening about Q’s waist. “I don’t think they made these coaches with London commuters in mind!”

The Quartermaster looked up, meeting warm brown eyes, and grinned back. His was a bit sheepish, though no less amused. “You’d think with London’s record of crowds and altogether grumbly people that _someone_ would have thought this through!” His human support tossed back his head and laughed.

Q’s day was getting better.

\------------

The businessman, whose name Q learned was Robin, had stayed on the line after Q departed. The boffin had gone home grinning with Robin’s card and personal number tucked away in a pocket. Things really were looking up.

His step had a spring to it as he took the lift up to his apartment. Q even managed a rather terrible string of off-key whistling while unlocking his door and discarding his parka, shoes, and bag. James was sitting daintily in the front hall when Q finally looked up. The tomcat sat straighter, ears perked, and greeted him with a happy, _“Mrah!”_ The feline rose to all fours as Q approached, and allowed his human to pick him up. Q locked the door, still whistling and essentially _danced_ into his kitchen. Good days were _good_.

James’ snuggled against Q’s neck only to pull away. His ears flattened and his whiskers twitched. Pale eyes flicked between Q’s neck and his human’s face before he yowled softly, pawing at Q’s chest.

“I did try to bring you with me! Silly bugger.” Q pressed a kiss to James’ head. “The minions -and Eve and Tanner- threw me out early and I met someone on the train. I couldn’t even find a hand strap to hold onto, if you can believe it. Bloody ludicrous!” He set James onto the kitchen table. “I fell and some bloke caught me. We ended up chatting until I got off, and we agreed to meet up tomorrow for tea.”

The feline's claws unsheathed and drew slim scratches into the wood of the table and his tail twitched side to side. James-cat was _not happy_.

“Things are looking up! First, I get to bring you home,” Q nuzzled James’ face with his own, pressing another kiss to the cat’s cheek. James’ whiskers twitched up to reveal several teeth and he leant away, growling in annoyance. “Oh shush, you! As I was saying; first I got to bring you home. And now, after years without, I actually got a date! Hah!”

Q spun and strode to the counter. He put the kettle on, tossed some tea bags into the pot sitting on the counter, and began to rifle through his cupboards. Finding little more than dry pasta and tuna, Q huffed and shut the doors. "Right, **James**!"

 _"...Mrr...?"_ Came the cautious reply.

"We're ordering in! Chicken or beef?"

James was quickly distracted from Q's impending date by the promise of food.

\--------------

"Make sure to check his litter and food bowls before you leave! Oh! And to put on some music! He gets grumpy all alone."

Eve rolled her eyes and once again pushed Q from the room. _"Out_ , Q! I can handle your fluffy little terror for a few hours. Go enjoy your date. Hell, go get _laid_." She cackled at the flush creeping over Q's cheeks as he skittered away, waving at a pouting James and a grinning Eve. As he disappeared through the front doors to Q-branch, Eve turned and glanced down at James.

The big tomcat had not been at all happy with Q leaving him behind. He had made sure to wind trails about the Quartermaster's legs and spent the majority of the day as a fuzzy, heavy neck-pillow; complaining loudly when Q got up for any reason. Now he stared up at Eve, equal parts dejected and aggressive.

She _tsk'd_ , "Don't give me that look. He'll be home in a few hours, you'll be fine."

James growled and curled into the tiniest ball he could manage. He wanted his Quartermaster.

\-----------

It had taken a fair bit of juggling and grumbling but eventually Eve and James had come to a working arrangement. Because James was a fat arse -Eve’s exact words- the tom had been tucked into a rather large purse lined with one of Q’s cardigans. The ex-field agent called a car and soon they were on their way to Q’s flat.

As she expected, Q was a very private person. He tossed out random bits of information regarding his life in such a way that anyone who was actively trying to learn his secrets would be chasing irrelevant geese for months or years before finally realizing they’d been had. He and Eve had gotten along well since they’d met and she’d found him slowly opening up to her. She could always tell what was a true and important fact he was sharing by the slight blush to his cheeks and the way he would fiddle with one index finger using the fingers of his other hand. She’d never been invited to his flat before -though she’d never asked-  and Eve’s spine was tingling in anticipation.

Would it be a large, open space like in Q-branch? Would the furnishings be modern and sleek and comprised of chrome and leather? Or would Q fit more into a tiny flat reminiscent of the kind students could only manage to afford with all his worldly possessions stacked on top of one another? And where did James fit into all this? She looked over at the tom, sitting stiffly in the carrybag with his head poking out the top, ears back, expression reminiscent of a frown. He would occasionally duck down into the bag and curl into a surprisingly tiny ball amongst the folds of Q’s sweater only to pop back up like a gopher as the driver applied the brakes too hard or turned too sharply.

James, as a whole, looked very unimpressed.

When they finally arrived the duo made it through the front doors and up to Q’s floor before James wriggled free of the purse and jumped to the ground. He glanced at Eve from over one pale shoulder and sashayed off, tail raised and rigid. Eve shook her head and followed; James knew exactly where to go, after all.

She was quick to unlock the door and disarm the security system, James slipping through her legs before bounding through the empty flat. When she eventually went padding after the pale menace, she found him buried under an expanse of tangled sheets and a pillow, curled into a tiny ball. The look he shot her was two parts annoyed, one part longing.

Cooing, Eve sat on the edge of the bed and gently drew the large feline out. He gave a token protest by way of wriggling bum and patting paws, but ultimately let the agent wrangle his boneless frame across her lap. James huffed and butted against her hand as she drew it down his head and back.

“He’ll be home soon, don’t you worry.”

They stayed like that for another few moments before, in a graceless wiggle, James rolled from her lap to flop against the duvet. He crawled back under the pillow, grumbling, and tucked his head under one shoulder, tail tucked against his belly and curled paws, and stared up at Eve in misery. Unable to console the fluffy terror any further, the PA resorted to tucking the bedcovers around James in a makeshift nest before getting up.

He really _did_  missed Q.

\----------------

"What do you do then?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing too interesting; I work in the tech support department at a branch of the Civil Service."

Robin fiddled with a fork, eyes casting down to the polished metal before rising back to meet Q’s. "You know, I had a friend from uni who graduated into a job with the Civil Service. He was a linguist so we all had a bet going that he'd been recruited into MI5. Whenever we ask about it he says he can't tell us."

"That still makes it sound more glamorous that it is. Most of my time is spent asking 'have you turned it off and on again," Q scowled. 

The businessman laughed and Q shot him a wry grin. "Good thing they've got you then. I'd hate to see the state the country would be in if our operatives couldn't even manage to switch their technology on!"

_‘Trust me, there are days I wonder at the application process for the double-oh programme.’_

“To be perfectly honest, I rarely leave the office. There is always a project to oversee, repairs or upgrades to do, and a backlog of paperwork that I think may have become sentient.” Q ran a hand through his hair and grimaced, thinking of all the After Action Reports the double-ohs avoided and the simply staggering amount of requisition forms for explosives.

“Well, if you run the department, why not delegate some of that to the next senior staff member, or some of the junior members?” Robin shifted back and to the side in his seat, right arm coming around the back of the chair while his left, atop the table, idly played with his spoon. “You have to be able to trust your employees to do what work you assign them. If they succeed, or go above your expectations, you know who to rely on in the future. Those who don’t, well, there’s always the option of retraining or moving them to a different department, or if they’re truly that terrible, ending their employment.” He shrugged, “It’s never fun to tell someone they’re out of a job, but if they aren’t dependable then there isn’t any reason to keep them.”

Q nodded, “You’re right, I suppose I’m just a bit possessive when it comes to my tech. Some of them actually score higher on the Intelligence Quotient than I do.” He chuckled and took a sip of his wine, rolling it across his tongue before swallowing. “There are a few grad students who actually transferred from MIT in America just to intern in my department. It boggles the mind to think they would travel so far for only a few months’ placement.” Q snorted and grinned at his dinner partner, “It’s odd to have people in the department actually _younger_ than me!”

Robin eyed Q, taking in his clean jaw and long, thin neck. “You aren’t _that_ young; though I don’t think it would be too much an effort for you to pull off the look.” He squinted a bit, as though considering Q seriously, “Or are you actually underage and planning on having your wicked way with an old man like me?”

Q’s bark of laughter had several people turning to look at them. He covered his mouth and dropped his head to the table. His shoulders shook from giggling and even Robin had to cover his own mouth to stifle his laughter. “Shh, _shhhhh!_ ” The Quartermaster’s giggling worsened as his date attempted to quiet them both.

When Q finally managed to catch his breath he was flushed from his collar to forehead. His eyes were glossy and his grin was wide. They paid their bill, Q nearly taking off Robin’s hand in his dive for the tray, and headed out. Ice cream was next, though neither man had much room for sweets.

Robin chose toffee while Q stuck with plain strawberry. His stern look and crossed arms negated any ribbing his flavour choice could have earned him. Instead, Robin kissed Q. The slide of their mouths and tongues, hot flesh coated in cold, contrasting flavours prompted Q to take another lick of his cone before diving back in.

It didn’t take much for the two men to make the decision to abandon their melting treats in favour of a cab back to Q’s place. The cabbie rolled his eyes and drove while the two men pawed at each other in the back of his taxi, sticky fingers stroking under clothes and catching on warm skin.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It hadn’t been the kind of frantic sex he’d imagined, but not at all disappointing."  
> Q's date is concluded, James makes a mistake he regrets, and Tanner might need to run another seminar in "good touch, bad touch" for the double-ohs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, sorry for the phantom post guys. -This- is my final apology post!  
> And since I didn't want to leave the chapter where it was, I combined eight and nine! So here you are, a massive double chapter!
> 
>  
> 
> *****SMUT AHEAD!******

8.

The Quartermaster was having difficulty slipping his key into the lock. His lack of concentration could have been from the wine and mixed drinks he’d had over dinner. Though, more likely, it was due to Robin running his gloriously large hands over the flat planes of Q’s stomach under his shirt. Q eventually unlocked the door and they all but fell in. The brunette managed to shut off the alarm before he was pinned to the back of his door, wrists held firmly in Robin's large hands and atop his head.

The older man was nipping at Q’s jaw, tongue slipping out to flick at a few freckles and a mole. Q groaned and dropped his head back to thump against the door. Robin chuckled and took the lobe of Q's ear between his teeth and tugged gently. The brunette's hips jerked up and into his date's, who groaned and pressed back.

_"Mrah!"_

Q blinked. Robin paused in his perusal of the young man's throat. To Q’s left and down, front paws nearly touching their feet, sat James. The tomcat's ears were pinned back, tail lashing side to side. He stared up at Robin with unconcealed hatred.

"Huh, you didn't tell me you had a flatmate." Robin straightened, hands releasing Q's wrists and trailing down to his trim waist. He found a bare patch of skin and stroked it. He pressed a chaste kiss to Q's lips and pulled back, grinning. "Could I bother you for a cuppa?"

It took the Quartermaster another moment to gather his bearings. He nodded mutely and stepped over the glaring cat and through the foyer and into the kitchen. Stumbling only slightly Q padded over to the counter, kicking off his shoes on the way. He heard the rustling of clothing as Robin knelt down.

"Hey there, little man. You're a pretty boy, aren't you. Such a pretty coat! And your ey- ** _yeow!_** "

Q jumped and spun back around before stumbling the half dozen steps from the kitchen to the foyer doorway.

James was on all fours. His fur was bristling, tail lashing, and mouth open in a snarl. Robin had scooted back against the wall, one hand clutching the other. He stared down at the tomcat in a mixture of anger and confusion.

"What happened, are you alright?"

Robin looked up at him and grimaced, raising his hands a bit. "Little bugger bit me! All I did was try to pet him."

Q frowned and strode forward. He bent and grasped James around the middle, hauling the cat up into his arms. He wasn’t fearful of the tom’s anger and sincerely doubted that James would attack him; though if he did it was something to address at a later date. James hissed, focus still on Robin, and writhed in Q's grip. "That is **_enough!_** " James ceased his wriggling, though a low growl continued to escape his chest. "Robin, I am _so_ sorry. He's never reacted like this before." Q walked from the kitchen and to the living room where he dropped James onto the coffee table from chest height. The tom landed on splayed paws and turned to look up at his human in surprise - feeling a bit of hurt by the lack of care.

The brunette lowered his voice, tone dark. “I won’t have you attacking my guests, James! It’s bad enough you took your claws to me once, but I won’t have you taking out your aggression on anyone else.” He leant in until his nose brushed James’, “I told you, _no more!”_

James mewled and raised one paw, toes curling.

Q drew back, “I’m not letting this go, James! Get out of my sight - I’m too mad to even look at you.” With that Q turned and strode back into the kitchen, ignoring the plaintive mewls from James.

“Everything alright?” Robin was against the counter, inspecting his hand under the light. The bite wasn’t that bad, though there was a perfect impression of James’ teeth in his skin . He glanced over at Q and smiled from under a fringe of mussed brown hair.

Q replied by leaning in and catching the taller man’s mouth. Robin leant back, turning to accommodate Q’s lean form as the boffin slid in close. One of Q’s hands cupped Robin’s jaw, the other sinking down to trace lines against the man’s abdomen, through his shirt. The businessman groaned into the kiss. His hands came around and cupped Q’s arse, fingers kneading the firm flesh through his trousers. Q nipped at his lower lip, tugging at the reddened flesh only to release it and dive back in. His tongue, as clever in fine detail work as with cutting words, licked into Robin’s mouth.

The boffin’s slim fingers began to trail up and down, dipping beneath Robin’s waistband slightly and back up to run along the line of buttons. One of Robin’s hands returned from Q’s arse to mimic the slight tug and slide along the younger man’s buttons.

“Are you hinting at something? Mm, I think you might need to show me what you want.”

Q shivered as the words ghosted across his mouth. And then both his hands were tugging the tongue of Robin’s belt through the buckle and undoing the button and flies of his trousers. He wore soft silk pants underneath. Q took the time to outline the man’s hard cock through the silk, fingertips skating across body warmed fabric. Robin groaned and captured Q’s mouth again, his own hands following suit and opening Q’s trousers. Unlike Robin, Q wore a pair of bright red, cotton, boxer briefs.

Robin was quick to push down Q’s pants and trousers until he could easily reach both the younger man’s cock and balls. Q, terribly distracted, did his best to reciprocate. Both of his pale hands slid down the back of Robin’s trousers, into his pants. His thumbs hooked onto the outside of the garments and he carefully wiggled until Robin was equally as bare as Q.

Robin’s mouth migrated from Q’s to his throat where he sucked and licked down to the boffin’s pale collarbone. He nipped sharply at the skin there, leaving behind a smattering of red marks. Q mewled, hips jerking and causing his rigid cock to bob in the air. He was long since past words. Robin, with his deliciously large hands, encircled the width of Q’s cock in one fist. The Quartermaster’s knees almost buckled at that first touch and his mouth dropped open in a low moan, eyes screwed shut. Robin chuckled and tipped back Q’s head to better nibble at his jaw.

The hot circle of his hand clenched and released only to slide up in one smooth motion and then back down. Q whimpered and clutched at Robin’s lapel with his left hand, his right seeking out the other man’s prick blindly. His fingers found it and began a smooth, twisting stroke. Groaning, the larger man went back to Q’s mouth, their tongues tangling. On the next downward stroke, his fingers gathered the dollop of precome beading at Q’s slit and spread it, making the slide of velvet flesh easier.

Q whined and bucked his hips, wanted so badly for Robin to quicken his pace. He’d gone without release for a _very_ long time. His own fingers gathered around the head, caging it in with his palm hovering over the tip. He massaged the glans and corona, stroking down the shaft and along the frenulum in quick strokes. It didn’t take long for Robin’s cock to begin leaking as well, and Q made use of the thick fluid, smearing it across his palm on the downstroke. His pace increased, throwing in little twists and aborting a stroke halfway to return the way he’d come. Robin didn’t disappoint, his hand swiftly changing grip and pace to match Q while the other travelled from the boffin’s bottom to the back of his neck.

“F-fuck,” Q breathed, swollen lips brushing Robin’s as they mouthed at each other. “I’m not going to last. I -ah- wasn’t kidding when I said it’d been awhile.” He nipped at Robin’s lip again, thrusting into the tight glove of heat around his cock.

Robin’s reply was a breathy moan of laughter, “You and I both, sweet. Mm, I’m just about -ugh- there.”

Q tightened his fingers and angled his hand a bit more. He pulled and stroked, quicker and quicker. He was a little surprised when Robin came first, being so close to the edge himself. The man swore, hips stuttering into the tight ring of Q’s hand. His mouth caught Q’s and didn’t let go, free hand clamping down on the back of the boffin’s neck hard enough to bruise as he spilled over Q’s fist.

Q groaned, wanting so badly to come. Robin growled and Q realized the man was, thankfully, a considerate lover;  his hand pumped at Q’s throbbing prick as he rode out his own orgasm. Q flew over the edge and into his climax with a yelp. His hips stilled, head of his cock tightly clasped in the cage of Robin’s hand. His yelp stretched into a whine as his head fell to thump against Robin’s chest, hair veiling his face.

The two men stayed where they were, clutching at each other and panting, as their orgasms subsided into a pleasant afterglow. When Q didn’t feel as though his legs would give out he carefully pulled back. His hand released Robin’s prick with a sucking noise that made them both laugh. It was a matter of grabbing a few hand towels and cleaning up with warm water from the sink beside them.

“So,” Robin was still a bit out of breath, his grin relaxed. He tucked himself away and straightened his jacket only to carefully remove it. “What are the chances of me staying for a cuppa?”

Q laughed and set about making them a pot of tea.

\-------------------------

An hour and a half and two cups of tea each later, Robin left with the promise to text Q the following day. As he closed the door, Q sighed and pressed his back to the wood, head falling to thump against the door. It hadn’t been the kind of frantic sex he’d imagined, but not at all disappointing. He huffed out a laugh and hauled himself from the door, hands automatically turning the lock and setting the alarm.

Q turned out the remaining lights in the living room and slipped into his bedroom, closing the door behind him. He washed his face, brushed his teeth, and dressed for bed, all with a silly, relaxed grin on his lips. It wasn’t until he was crawling into bed that he realized something was missing. Q sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

No, no matter how mad he was at James for attacking Robin, it wasn’t right to lock him out or ignore him. Q stood from the bed and walked back to the living room. He found James curled into a ball on the windowsill, smaller than Q had thought the big tomcat could ever manage. He nibbled his lip for a moment before making a decision. Without pausing, Q scooped up the heavy tom, turned, and strode back into the bedroom where he kicked the door shut behind him. James was a wriggling ball of unhappy kitty in his arms, though his claws were carefully sheathed. Q didn’t let go until he’d settled onto the bed, and only then to lay James belly up in his lap.

The tomcat stared up at Q with wide blue eyes, ears drooping.

“I’m sorry.”

James’ ears pricked forward, _“Mrr?”_

“You were a right arse to him. But that doesn’t mean I should have yelled at you.” He stroked a line down James belly from his throat and back up. The cat melted into a puddle of happy feline, his body relaxing and becoming pliant though he didn’t look away from Q and his expression tightened into a scowl. “For the record, I don’t want to become a hermit just because my cat hates people; I can do that well enough on my own.” He shot James a look and was rewarded with the visible withering of James’ ire.

 _“Mrrrrrrrryah.”_ James stretched out both paws and Q dropped kisses on each. The paws carefully kneaded Q’s face and he closed his eyes to better enjoy the feeling. _“Brrrr.”_

Q chuckled, “You really do have an amazing range of sounds, James.” He pulled back slightly and opened his eyes. James looked rather disappointed, his paws still kneading empty air. Q laughed and rolled his eyes. “Bedtime, you little shit.”

James scrambled up from his human’s lap and Q crawled under the blankets. He lifted a corner and James crawled in to press his back against Q’s chest. The boffin wrapped his arms around the feline and kissed his head, smiling sleepily.

“Love you, James - night.”

James lay awake for a long while, far past the time in which Q had been taken by sleep, and _thought._

\------------------------

James leant against the doorframe between the living room and the kitchen, watching the man touch Q in all the ways James wanted to. This man, this _stranger_ , was touching **_Q_**! **_James’_** Q! It wasn’t right; it shouldn’t have been _his_ hands pulling open Q’s shirt and tugging down his trousers. His hands dipping inside and working the young man until his knees were jelly and he was exhausted from being taken apart. But James had gone about expressing his opinion all wrong; and now Q was beyond furious with him. The tom hunched down, ears drooping, and wrapped his long tail around his paws. It hurt to watch Q find his pleasure with someone else - but it was James’ fault for letting it happen. It was his fault for being too much of a coward to act and too much a possessive bastard to let Q go.

So he sat against the archway and watched the man coax Q through his orgasm. James watched as the sweat gathered on Q’s collarbone, his brows furrowed and his mouth dropped open, and how his hips jerked disjointedly and then stilled as he finished. The flush of his cheeks didn’t belong to James, nor did the soft, lazy kisses he gave his guest after coming back down from his high.

When the two men parted, James turned and tucked himself away in the bedroom. He neglected the bed to instead hop into the laundry hamper and bury himself beneath the weight of Q’s worn clothing. This...this could all be his... If only he would let himself.

James stayed where he was, ignoring the stifling heat from his furry body being in such a closed space for so long, until he heard the click of the front door. He snuck from the bedroom and back into the living room, curling up atop the cool wood of the windowsill, letting the chill seep through his fur and into his heart where it belonged.

When slim, warm hands slid under his belly, James flailed and mewled. The tom didn’t fight the touch, though he played the part, sleepy as he was. He knew it was Q, who else could smell so much like home?

Being back in bed with his human, his Q, made the chill dispel from his heart. He’d do better. If it made Q happy, he’d do anything.

Long after Q fell into sleep James lay awake, thinking and planning.

He’d do this right. For Q.

\---------------------------------

The following day spent at the office was...interesting...

James, back to being King of Q-branch, was altogether an annoying little shit. He refused to let Q out of his sight; going as far as to hitch a ride on the young man's thin shoulders. He would growl and bat at anyone who got too close, though he behaved by keeping his teeth and claws to himself. By now the branch had become accustomed to James' possessive nature. Some of the interns made a game of it and intentionally invaded the Quartermaster’s space in a dangerous game of ‘chicken’. Various minions would attempt to touch Q in any way possible without being ‘tagged’ by James massive paws.

By the end of the day the big tom was a constantly bristling ball of anger, and even Q was beginning to tire of his underlings’ game. The final straw came when Q was finishing up a report for missing tech after Double-Oh-One had returned from Syria. James had folded into an exhausted puddle of feline atop Q’s left hand and was making an effort to absorb as much heat from the laptop’s exhaust port as possible. He’d had a full ten hours of constant ‘minion attacks’ and the poor thing was about ready to drop.

James’ chin rested on the second set of knuckles of Q’s hand, paws tucked under the boffin’s wrist in a hug. The pose, coupled with his overprotective streak that day, screamed _‘my boffin’_ to anyone who saw him. James huffed a sigh and nuzzled Q’s hand. The brunette smiled and twitched his index finger up to nudge at James’ cheek. The day was almost done, and then they could go home and collapse in front of the telly with a big bowl of ice cream (and maybe this time Q would deign to share).

“How’s my favourite boffin?”

Or not.

Q’s left brow twitched, just visible over the top of his glasses. His mouth pursed and his eyes narrowed at the agent striding through the open door of his office. Double-Oh-One -whom occasionally went by the name of Leon Continello- was a large, red-headed man; his size and demeanor had other agents constantly comparing him to the deceased Raoul Silva. His constantly seductive manner gave Q the creeps.

The brunette’s left hand tightened into a fist, forcing James up from his happy-cat pile. The tom stared at One with undisguised distaste, whiskers twitching. As if knowing where this was going, James’ carefully padded to the edge of the desk and leapt onto the back of Q’s padded chair. The boffin held onto the desk as the chair rocked with the addition of James’ weight, and waited until he felt the soft brush of the tomcat’s tail against the back of his neck to let go.

“I’m not Tina from accounting, so I wouldn’t know. Is there something you wanted, agent?” Q had less patience for the double-oh today than usual, though that wasn’t saying much.

Leon sauntered over to Q’s desk, sliding onto the corner closest to the brunette’s right hand and smiling. “Tsk, silly boffin, I meant you.” Q rolled his eyes. “Come now, it’s been _weeks_ since I’ve had the pleasure of your company. _Indulge_ me a little, hmm?”

Q made a point of looking back to his laptop and ignoring the double-oh. The tom glowered and tucked his paws and tail under his belly before closing his eyes; he was too bloody exhausted. His large ears pricked forward to better hear every word anyway. Q’s left hand rose from the desk to arch over his shoulder where he scratched at James chin. The feline purred and leant into the touch. “Agent, I’m fairly certain that not having you court-martialed is my way of indulging your childish antics. Though, if you have any complaints about my lack of action for the dozen or so buildings, weapons, vehicles, and persons you’ve managed to lose and/or explode in the last three months, I can easily put in the necessary paperwork for disciplinary action.”

One stiffened and his seductive smile became strained. He leant forward and braced his right hand on the desk, almost touching Q’s wrist. Q’s shoulders tensed and he brought his hand back from James’ chin to rest lightly on his armrest. Common sense said not to trust trained killers.

The ginger halted his approach scant inches from Q’s cheek, his breath fanning across the pale skin. “Now, now, no need for such hostility.” His voice was sweet, “I’m merely being friendly, Q. Would it hurt any for us to get to know each other a little bit better? You look a little tense... Maybe you need help to unwind, hmm?” One’s left hand settled around the back of Q’s neck and squeezed.

The brunette yelped and jerked away, jostling James from the back of the chair. The tom reacted on instinct and leapt forward onto Leon’s back as he followed after the Quartermaster. James’ rear claws caught in the fabric of the agent’s suit while his front paws batted at the agent’s head and neck. One yelled and aborted his pursuit of Q, instead reaching for James.

Q made use of James’ distraction and staggered away. Over the tom’s snarling he could hear the _thump_ of approaching feet coming up the stairs outside his office. Steeling himself, Q darted back in and physically ripped James from the double-oh’s shoulder. The tom pushed against Q’s chest, trying to get back to ‘defending’ his human. His back claws didn’t extend, though the force of his kicking was likely to bruise.

The boffin backed away until he hit the wall, jostling a picture frame that crashed to the floor. James was a writhing, hissing bundle of pissed off feline in Q’s arms. Leon stayed behind Q’s desk, left hand coming up to pat at his exposed neck, checking for blood. He pursed his lips for a breath, still touching his neck and shoulder under the collar of his shirt. “Q, I-”

He was interrupted as Bill Tanner and Double-Oh-Six -Alec Trevalyn- burst through the door. Tanner was flushed and panting while Alec looked impeccable, not a hair out of place. Leon shifted to face them, holding his hands up and out in surrender. Alec stalked over to the other double-oh and caught his arm, tugging the ginger away from Q and into the corner where he began to -quietly- tear verbal strips from the younger man’s hide. One looked properly chastised.

With shaking hands Q stroked down James’ back and sides, checking for injuries, before settling the cat further. The tom quieted his snarling to a low, menacing growl and wriggled until he could see his opponent from within the quaking cage of his human’s arms. Q’s breath warmed the back of James’ neck as he panted and his heart beat erratically in his chest.

When a hand touched Q’s shoulder he jumped and flinched back. James hissed and instinctually batted at the hand. He snarled in warning.

“Careful there, it’s alright.” Tanner stood beside the duo, hands held out, palm up, “It’s alright, Q, everything’s taken care of. Let’s get you and your boy out of here, yeah?”

The boffin swallowed and nodded. The older agent guided him from the office with a hand on his elbow. Eve was outside and quickly pulled Q to one side, squishing James between them as she hugged the boffin. The tomcat yowled and reached up to bop a paw against Eve’s jaw, though he made no effort to escape.

“Tell me honestly, are you alright? Do I need to shoot someone? I’ve done it before and I can do it again and if I’m completely honest I think I like shooting people which, really, in our line of work isn’t a terrible thing to say though I do wonder what it means for my sanity to enjoy shooting people - but that arsehole would deserve it because he’s a berk and oh my god you poor baby, your _neck! **Augh!**_ **_Tanner_**!” Q was too shocked to interrupt Eve as she barrelled through what could have been the most heart-warming -and worrying- run-on sentence he’d ever heard.

James’ huffed from within Q’s arms.

Tanner sighed, “Miss Moneypenny, if you could please refrain from both crushing our Quartermaster and deafening him, it would be greatly appreciated.” The Chief of Staff carefully detached the PA from Q. “Now, are you able to tell me what happened, Q?”

The brunette sucked in a breath, closed his eyes, exhaled, and nodded. He looked back up at Tanner, expression set. “Double-Oh-One disregarded my previous requests for personal space, as well as my attempt at reiterating that same request in a different format.” One of Q’s hands came up to carefully touch the back of his neck. “I don’t know for certain whether he intended to do me harm, but he grabbed my neck and I reacted.” He shrugged, uncomfortable. “My first instinct was to get away. I suppose I startled Jam-” he paused and sighed, “James, he startled James. And because my cat is a stupid, possessive little beast he pounced on Double-Oh-One. And here we are.”

James mewled from his spot in Q’s arms and nuzzled against the underside of his human’s jaw. Q chuckled and kissed James’ head. “As I said, I don’t know what his intentions were, other than to get far too close, but I think this got out of hand.” The brunette shifted his charge and allowed James to carefully climb up to his shoulder. The heavy feline nestled around Q’s neck like a massive pillow and draped down across the top of his human’s chest. The shift of his weight meant Q didn’t need to lean forward uncomfortably in order to keep James in place. The boffin’s right hand came up to scratch at the cat’s head.

Tanner nodded and pulled out his mobile, sending off a quick text before tucking it back away. “Regardless of his initial purpose in seeking you out, we can’t allow such things to happen. M and I will deal with him personally and make a point of emphasizing ‘good touch, bad touch’.” The veteran agent sighed and rolled his eyes; his job some days amounted to policing toddlers in adult bodies with access to deadly skills and weaponry. “Miss Moneypenny, if you wouldn’t mind...?”

Eve nodded and nudged Q along. A minion met them at the bottom of the stairs with Q’s messenger bag and parka. Double-ohs Six and One were still in his office, and the boffin wasn’t too interested in darting back in to check for anything that might have been left behind.

\--------------

The ride from MI6 back to Q’s flat was quick - though that could have been due more to Q’s absent mindedness than any actual time elapsed. Eve dropped him at the kerb, only leaving once the door to the lobby closed and locked behind the boffin. He waved her off over one shoulder, knowing she was still there, while heading to the elevator.

James, giving his human a respite, trotted alongside Q to their flat. He slipped in ahead of Q as the brunette unlocked the door and reset the alarm. It was barely one in the afternoon, but both human and cat were ready for bed.

Q locked the door, topped up James’ food and water dishes, and all but fell into bed.

He barely had the energy to tug his cardigan and shirt off -not to mention his suddenly sentient tie- and spared no more than his toes to escape from his trousers and socks. James watched from Q’s pillow, one fuzzy brow raised as his human attempted to undress using just his feet, both of which must have been of the left variety.

The great feline huffed and trotted down the bed to catch the hem of one pant leg between his teeth. James growled and tugged, bum wiggling in the air as he backed away. The boffin tried to ease the way by lifting his hips, which only helped until the opposite leg needed to be pulled free. James repeated the progress and allowed Q to kick his trousers -and pants- the rest of the way off on his own. The boffin burrowed under his covers and held out a limp arm for his furry saviour. The big tom nuzzled Q’s cheek before licking his forehead and curling up against the slim man’s chest.

Q sighed and curled into a matching ball, fingers threading through James’ fur.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James mopes, Q goes on another date, and Leon gets his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo...Smut...Oh, and I've collected a folder full od cat .gifs that pertain to James being...James... (I sent them to rerumframagenta and I'm not sorry for what it did to her).

9.

When Q woke to the feeling of fingers stroking across his nape and a firm chest under his cheek, he didn’t panic. Well, actually, he did. Though it was more an internal panic than the flailing, vocalized kind he usually reserved for waking to find unknown persons in his bed. A stranger under his covers wasn’t always a bad thing; he simply liked to know where they’d come from (and, if possible, to expect them).

Q snuggled in farther, hands smoothing over a variable palate of skin. Some patches were smooth to the touch with a fine blanket of peach fuzz, other were rough and uneven - indicating scars. All of the body he could touch -from thigh to cheek- was warm and thrumming with life. He hummed and pressed a kiss to his bed partner’s chest, enjoying the fingers stroking his neck and the hot, broad palm against his lower back.

An answering rumble from his pillow made Q smile. He didn’t mind these hallucinations (or were they incredibly vivid dreams?) all that much; definitely not if they were always this warm and attentive. The fingers stroked across his neck again. Trails of gentle fire against the already heated skin. On the next pass the digits pressed lightly, sussing out...something... One fingertip pressed down and Q yelped, jerking away from the touch as pain flared through him.

A low voice carefully shushed the boffin and the hand on his back began to rub circles against his flesh. Q whimpered and buried his face into the man’s  chest, swallowing a whimper. It _hurt!_ The stranger’s hand -though he really wasn’t a stranger after two other times in Q’s bed- returned to the boffin’s neck where it resumed it’s gentle stroking. Sucking in a slow, steady breath, Q kissed the man’s chest again and allowed the gentle touch of calloused hands to lull him into a deep rest.

\-------------------

Q didn’t search for his dream stranger when he woke this time. His hand instead sifted through the blankets to find James. The feline was curled around Q’s head and gave only a token protest as he was dragged down from his fluffy bed and into his human’s arms under the mound of blankets.

\--------------------

“Though it’s fairly straightforward, we have to do a formal investigation and disciplinary hearing. Take the day off, maybe get some personal things done, and come back in for tomorrow.” Tanner spoke briskly and Q could hear the shuffling of papers across the line.

“I can’t even work remotely?”

“Not if you don’t want to extend your hiatus to a week, no. The higher-ups are determined to keep this investigation as close to code as possible.”

The brunette sighed and rolled over to scratch under James’ chin. The cat hadn’t suffered more than some sore limbs from his tussle with Double-Oh-One, but he was milking the minor injuries for all they were worth. The Quartermaster didn’t entirely mind. As for the investigation, he understood the need to enforce protocol -Q had even made a point of it himself- but that didn’t make his situation any less frustrating.

“Alright, Tanner. Just keep me updated and I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

The chief of staff agreed and rung off. Q huffed and tossed his phone to the end of the bed. James watched his human though one eye, purring and stretching. “Right then, may as well get to it, eh?” It was barely half eight in the morning, but Q was wide awake, especially after his chat with Tanner. “I’m going to shower and I’ll make us breakfast after.” Q ruffled the fur between James’ ears, earning him a swat from the tom, and staggered, naked, to the loo.

\-------------

“Right then, you behave and I’ll be back later, yeah?” Q tugged his leather jacket straight -a gift from Eve to break up the monotony of his ‘hideous’ anorak-, and kissed the top of James’ head. The weather outside was far too warm and clear for his parka, but Q wasn’t naive enough to expect it to last. He plucked his keys from the hook by the door, palmed his phone and wallet through the fabric of his jeans to be sure he had them, and slipped out the door.

James watched Q go, claws scratching the finish of the kitchen table as he kneaded his paws against the wood. Q had made arrangements for coffee with _Robin_ -James hissed- among other things. James would take the time to grumble about Q having a second date later but he had other, more sinister plans for now.

The once-stray tomcat leapt from the table to the floor. His body lengthened and gained mass, pale fur melting into tanned skin stretched over thick muscle and crisscrossed with scars. Paws grew and lengthened to become thick calloused hands and wide feet.

James Bond, agent Double-Oh-Seven of England’s MI6, rose from the kitchen floor and stalked towards the bedroom he shared with his Quartermaster, a vicious smirk contorting his lips. He had a playdate to keep.

\--------------------

Bond took an extra three hours to dress and leave Q’s apartment - though at this point he considered home more than anywhere else he’d ever been. The agent tucked himself back into the large bed, rolling across the mattress and tangling the sheets around his legs before cocooning himself in the duvet. He buried his face into Q’s pillow, inhaling and humming in pleasure. Bond stretched and yawned, jaw cracking. He dragged the pillow down and held it against his chest in a hug before burying his nose in the soft cotton.

He thought about waking each morning curled around Q’s shaggy head with his paws and nose buried in the young man’s mop. He thought about how, sometimes, he would wake to Q’s soft moans. The young man’s vibrant mind was always at work, even in his dreams. More than once, as James rather than Bond, he had watched the young man palm and tug his stiff cock while not quite awake - still caught in the throes of a pleasurable dream. The agent hadn’t allowed himself the luxury of Q’s bed in his human form, wanting to keep his human and animal lives as separate as possible.

His plans had thrown themselves off a metaphorical cliff the moment Q had brought _Robin_ home. Watching the stranger pleasure his Quartermaster had been far more painful than the agent had anticipated. He wanted Q - badly. It wasn’t just his body, though the blonde had seen more than enough to know the boffin was his type. At first he had wanted Q’s friendship. Bond hadn’t intentionally sought the Quartermaster out the night at the Tube entrance, having instead shifted and gone for a stroll to clear his mind post-mission. When he’d sighted Q, and Q had sighted him, his interest had been piqued: how did the Quartermaster of MI6 live? What did he do in his off hours? Did he live the life of luxury attributed to most branch heads, or did he live similarly to Bond with few material possessions and fewer friends?

His smile and the kindness he displayed by taking Bond in had startled the agent. Q didn’t know what he was, what he could do. The boffin had only known he was taking a mangy stray from the streets and giving it a loving home. As an agent of MI6 and human, Bond couldn’t lapse in his wariness. But as a cat kept well fed and loved he could. As James he had quickly fallen into the habit of displaying his emotions and was rewarded with unconditional love. And even when he botched it all up, Q didn’t throw him out or seek petty revenge.

Bond sighed and rolled onto his back, the pillow held against the right side of his ribcage, fingers absently tugging at the hem of the cloth case. He closed his eyes and drew up the image of Q from last night, how the young man had been too exhausted to even remove his own trousers and pants. How he hadn’t questioned James’ help and had, instead, immediately tugged the tom close and fallen asleep.

He thought about the soft rise and fall of Q’s chest as he slept, the sharp blades of his hip bones and the shadows formed by the thin sheet that would be all that covered him some mornings. Bond remembered the cut of his collarbone and the shape of his jaw. The dots of beauty marks on his cheek and chest - and of the tiny mole set low on his abdomen. He sucked in a breath remembering the parting of Q’s lips as he sighed in pleasure, how his lips would stretch and pucker as he moaned and thrust slim hips.

Bond groaned and turned his head into the pillow, inhaling, as his left hand snaked down his chest and over a nipple to graze his cock. His hips jerked and his breath stuttered. God, he hadn’t done this in _ages._ Bond kicked the duvet down until his hips were bare. He took no time to take his cock in hand, squeezing the heavy width and tugging at the covered head. The blonde hissed and jerked his hips up into the steady grip of his hand. He left his legs tangled and stretched out, unable to find purchase for the kinds of thrusts that would end this all too quickly.

The agent pressed his nose further into the firm body of the pillow, imagining he was nuzzling into Q’s back, his hair. Bond’s mouth dropped open in a low moan as his hand dropped in a tight spiral to tug at the sheath of foreskin covering his cock. The dry shift was intense and he hissed again, baring his teeth. The double-oh refrained from rolling over and instead remained on his back, head turned to the side. The up and down stroke of his left hand was awkward but somehow perfect.

_Q’s left-handed..._

Bond moaned loudly into the pillow at that realization. His imagination expanded his narrow fantasy into something larger, brighter, and far more detailed. The agent shivered as he pictured Q there with him.

Q straddling one of Bond’s thighs only to rut against the firm muscle. Q shyly taking Bond’s cock in hand and stroking the length slowly, learning every ridge and vein. Q grinding his hips down onto Bond only to rise back up to touch their cocks together, his long fingered hands forming a tight canal around them.

Panting, Bond jerked his hips up. His fist followed his hips back down and began to twist and rise and drop quickly. The agent released his the grip of his right hand on the pillow and brought it down to roll his balls between fingers too large and too rough to be what he wanted, _needed_. Moaning, the blonde pressed into the pillow, inhaling. His left hand continued its stroking, sometimes changing the angle or tightening from a shy grip to something firmer and far more experienced. Bond’s right hand continued to tug at his testicles and pressed at the perineal underneath. His fingers rubbed back and forth as he panted into the pillow.

So close, he was so _close_.

His grip tightened and his pace increased - fingers massaging, grip twisting. Bond blinked his eyes open onto to slam them shut again; the mental image of Q on his knees tugging at Bond’s cock wasn’t one he was willing to relinquish. The tip of his right index finger pressed against his hole, testing the muscle before sinking in dry.

 _‘Ah, god, fuck!’_ Bond came with a muffled shout.

“Oh _fuck_ , Q!”

His mouth dropped open and he panted into the pillow as his body seized and jerked. His fist grew hot and slick, the feeling spreading to his abdomen as the fluid filled his hand and ran over. He shivered through his orgasm, imagining Q’s shy smile as he licked Bond’s come from his fingers, ever curious.

It took the agent a moment before he could move, and only after inhaling from Q’s pillow as deeply as possible. Bond scooted to the edge of the bed slowly and extricated himself from the tangle of pale sheets. His hand was cold and sticky, ick. He _definitely_ needed a shower.

\------------------------

Unbeknownst to Q, Bond had taken measures for such an occasion as this. He unpacked his spare suit, shoes, and tie from the vacuum sealed bag inside the living room wall vent. He unwrapped a bottle of his signature cologne and applied it before tucking the bottle into Q’s medicine cabinet and behind a rather startling array of allergy medication and face wash.

Apparently Q had taken his comment about spots to heart.

\---------------------

It didn’t take long to work his way through MI6. Bond quickly flirted with interns and various skirt-clad staffers -and one man from PR that looked absolutely _fantastic_ in a white shirt and waistcoat- before making his way to the block of cubicles sectioned off for the double-ohs. As expected there were several agents milling around; each in varying degrees of cabin-fever. Alec waved from his cubicle though he didn’t get up. He angled his head and Bond caught sight of the man’s mobile pressed to one ear. Double-Oh-Seven waved back and strode onwards.

He found his target chatting quietly with Double-Oh-Three in the far corner of the room.

One was perched on the edge of his desk, ankles crossed. As Bond rounded the corner he smiled and waved, an expression so different from the seductive smirk he had pinned on Q the previous day. Three did the same and excused herself, nudging Bond good naturedly as she passed.

“Hello there, how’re things?” The younger man stayed where he was and offered the vacated chair to Bond with an absent wave of his hand. “You’ve been off-mission for so long I’m surprised London is still standing. We were beginning to wonder if you’d made it back to your flat or shacked up with some pretty young thing.”

Bond ignored the invitation and neglected to point out exactly what pretty young thing he’d been living with, “I have a bone to pick with you, Leon.”

The redhead sat up straighter and settled his palms to either side of his hips, fingers curling around the edge of the desk. He frowned as his mind worked through the possibilities. Double-ohs were possessive creatures and paranoid by necessity. They made note of boundaries within their clique and adhered to them with few breaches of etiquette. Leon misstepping among the interoffice politics of the double-oh division had far harsher consequences than anywhere else.

“...Correct me if I’m wrong, but I can’t think of any time I’d - ...oh…” He pursed his lips and stared up at the senior agent. “This is about my altercation with Q yesterday, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question. Leon sighed and slowly drew a hand up to run it through his hair. “I pushed a bit too hard with him, but I wasn’t looking to make trouble.” He shrugged, “I thought he was just shy and that perseverance would overcome that. Honestly, I only have the best of intentions. He’s about my age, terribly intelligent, witty, and looks delicious, even in those hideous cardigans.”

Bond’s mouth quirked at mention of the cardigans. He agreed wholeheartedly, but they were as much a part of Q as his mass of dark curls. The blonde spread his feet and settled himself, arms crossing. “That’s just the thing.” One cocked his head, listening. “Even had you set your sights on someone else, your behaviour is inexcusable. We place our lives in the hands of these men and women, and to disregard them in such a way not only insults them but also our whole division.” He had to pause and bit back his anger, “Respect for coworkers aside, you’re not to bother Q for anything beyond work.”

Leon cocked his head further, brows furrowing as he tried to understand. “Are...are you calling _dibs_ on a boffin?”

Bond glared, “Not _a_ boffin, _my_ boffin.”

Back stiffening, One glared back. “Now that isn’t very sporting, Bond. You can’t just go about staking claims on whomever catches your fancy that day. I think Q should be able to choose whomever he wants.” He stood and faced the older double-oh, cheeks flushing. “If I want to take Q -or anyone else for that matter- to bed, I will.”

Without meaning to Bond found his right hand around One’s neck while his left caught the other agent’s arm as he attempted to fight back. A leg was jammed between both of Leon’s and then hooked around a calf as Bond stepped onto the other man’s free foot with all his weight. Leon hissed and tried to jerk away. The blonde’s fingers tightened around his target’s throat until he gasped and froze, seeing spots.

Double-Oh-Seven leant in close, his nose nearly brushing One’s. “If you so much as _touch_ my Quartermaster, I will show you every single trick I’ve learned about torture in my career. _Every. Single. One,_ ” he snarled. It was hard to tell whether the redhead was ghostly pale from genetics or fear. “Do I make myself clear, _boy_?” Bond squeezed his hand tighter when an answer wasn’t immediate.

Leon nodded as best he could within the man’s grip.

Bond untangled himself and shoved the other double-oh back into the desk by his throat. One coughed, eyes not leaving the other agent  even as one hand came up to cover the front of his neck. He nodded again for good measure and didn’t move.

Absently straightening his jacket, “You’re good at what you do, One. I respect you for that, which isn’t something many people can say. But this isn’t a topic on which I’m willing to debate.” Blue met blue. Leon shivered at the intensity in Bond’s eyes, feral intent lurking just beneath the calm exterior. “Anyone else, within reason, is fair game.”

With a final glance Bond left. He didn’t need to look back to know that One had fallen to his knees and begun to massage the forming collar of bruises.

\-------------------

Bond returned to the flat with more than enough time to spare.

In a bout of sudden domestic need he puttered about the flat, cleaning. Though he laughed now, Bond dreaded the conversation in which he would tell Q about what he was. Specifically, he was dreading the part about Q cleaning Bond’s litter. He snorted and disposed of the refuse gathered during his spree before filling the box again.

With a spotless flat, an oddity given that Q was rarely home long enough to do more than toss out the previous visit’s mess, Bond was left with nothing to do. He huffed and studied the living room from the kitchen door, hands on his hips, dress shirt rolled to his elbows. Well, that had been distracting while it had lasted. The agent sighed and ran a hand through his short cropped hair.

When in doubt, take a nap.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cat-treats, burglars, and knickers - oh my!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Absolutely, terribly apologetic over how long it's taken me to post an update, sorry! I had my tonsils removed, and as an adult the recovery time is doubled (1-2 weeks for a kid with average 1 week of serious pain, 3-4 weeks for an adult with an average of 2 weeks of very serious pain). The surgery prep was - for lack of a better term - an adventure. Go ahead, ask me about it.  
> I'm still writing this and other fics, I'm just a bit slow right now. So please bear with me! Feel free to message me on Tumblr whenever :)

10.

“Honestly, are you stocking up for the apocalypse or something? Because there is no way you could eat all this.” Robin dodged Q’s half-hearted, backwards kick, laughing. “Careful now, you don’t want to drop the cake!”

Q really didn’t want to drop the cake, but it was tempting. He’d shopped with Robin in tow and managed to find a store that sold handmade treats for pets. Including, apparently, angel food cake. Robin had gotten to the confectionery first and refused to let Q pay.

“Do you think this will be enough of a bribe? I can go back and get another.”

Q rolled his eyes, “Robin, I don’t want James getting fat! He’s big enough already.”

“Alright, you have a point there. _But_ think of it this way; if he’s too fat to move, then he can’t be a devious little cock block.”

“Unless that devious little cock block realizes that he would then be round enough to be a devious, unstoppable, bowling ball of a cock block. What do you say to that, Mister Smarty-Pants?”

Robin grumbled and adjusted his grip on the shopping bags. “Your cat is the scary kind of smart; I wouldn’t put it past him to do exactly that. I like my knees intact, thank you.”

Q paused in unlocking the door of his flat to laugh. He grinned over one shoulder, “I can’t even take credit for how smart he is. James has been like this since I found him.” The boffin finished with the door and shouldered it open.

“How long _have_ you owned him, anyway?” Following behind the slim man, Robin closed the door with a hip and kicked off his shoes before following Q into the kitchen.

“Mm, not quite a month actually. It feels as though he’s been around much longer than that.”

“You’re joking, there’s no way that cat — with how _old_ he is — took to you so quickly. It’s hard enough to get a kitten to become so attached in a month, but an old-timer?” He shook his head and ducked around Q to begin filling the cupboards. “Cats get grumpier and more antisocial as they age, not cuddlier.”

“Uhuh, because you’re suddenly a cat-guru?” Q rolled his eyes, grinning, and tugged open the fridge.. “...Huh…”

“Hmm?” He leant over Q’s shoulder, all but flopping onto the smaller man and making him squawk. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Uh…my fridge wasn’t this empty this morning,” Q squinted at the shelves, “Or clean.”

Robin poked Q in the cheek with his index finger. “Are you trying to tell me that someone broke into your flat and _cleaned?”_

Q swatted at the casually dressed nine-to-fiver and stood. “Maybe, maybe not. I work with some rather, ah, _interesting_ , individuals. I wouldn’t put it past them to come over uninvited and clean up.” The slim man left the kitchen and stepped into the living room. “Jesus…they cleaned up in here, too! Nothing seems to be missing, though I’m beginning to lean towards creepy coworkers rather than a burglar who was so offended by the state of my flat they decided to clean while robbing me.”

Robin finished putting away the perishable foods before following Q. He left the cake on the counter. “I’m not sure whether to be jealous that people cleaned your flat for you, or worried.”

“I think we’re in the same boat on that one.” Q padded from the living room and through the open bathroom door, Robin close behind. The loo was just as spotless. Even Q’s laundry had been removed from the basket and left, neatly folded, on the countertop.

“O~okay, I’m definitely going to go with creepy.”

Q snorted and absently whacked Robin across the chest. “They aren’t _your_ bloody knickers they folded.”

Robin’s eyes lit up and he grinned, “Oooh, knickers, eh? Let me have a look.”

“Oh no you don’t!” The brunette stuck out an arm and a leg to block his date’s forward movement. “Oof!”

Robin wrapped both arms around Q’s middle and lifted the slimmer man up. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?” He ignored Q’s protests, punctuated by laughter, and slipped through the next door. “Oh…” He stopped, blinking.

“What do you mean _‘oh’?”_ Q wriggled free with a prod at Robin’s side. He looked past the taller man and too paused, blinking. “ _Ooh_.”

While the rest of Q’s flat had been meticulously cleaned, up to and including the majority of the bedroom, Q’s bed hadn’t been touched. Or, really, it _had_ been touched. There was an impression leftover from the pooling of sheets and blankets, one that hinted at having been left by a human body.

“Uhh…”

“So…does this make you Goldilocks in ‘Revenge of the Three Bears’, or are you Baby bear? Because there’s no way you could be Papa bear.” Robin laughed and held up his hands to ward of Q’s glare, “Though I think you’d make a rather fetching Mama bear.”

“Oi!” Q smacked Robin on one forearm. “This isn’t funny!” He grinned anyway and shook his head, curls flying. “Even though I have the day off, I didn’t stop to make my bed or anything.” He looked around the bedroom, eyes roving over the bedside tables, dresser, and rarely used vanity. Everything else was still in its place. No tidying — as far as Q could tell — had been done in here. “So I’m willing to bet that I just rolled out of bed and it stayed like that.” He shrugged and turned to look at Robin over one shoulder. “And like I said, I work with some rather, ah, _interesting_ individuals. I wouldn’t put it past a few of them to do some ‘community service’ by coming by to clean up. I did have a bit of a tough day yesterday.” Q smiled and looked back at the bed, one hip cocked. They were quiet for a moment, Q considering whether he needed to prank Eve — as she was the most likely culprit — or buy her something shiny as a thank you.

Robin broke the silence with a gentle nudge to Q’s shoulder. “Uhuh, so are we going to ruin that blanket-angel or…?”

_“Mrr?”_

The duo paused and looked back towards the bed. Amongst the blankets was a lump. They watched as the mound shifted and nudged at the duvet until, with a triumphant _‘Brrah!’_ a ball of frazzled feline burst free. James stood on all fours with his tail straight in the air, chest heaving.

“Uh, James? You alright over there?”

The cat sprung up and around to face the two men. His large ears stood straight in the air as he stared at them, eyes wide. _“...Mrrrr?”_

Q snorted and clapped a hand over his mouth to hide his smile. “Oh you poor thing, look at your fur!” The boffin pushed past Robin, who was too busy biting his hand to keep from giggling. “Come here, let me fix it.” Q climbed onto the bed and crawled on all fours to meet James in the center. From there it was only a matter of smoothing out the cowlicks with his hands. James all but flopped onto Q’s lap, purring and kneading the air with his large furry toes. “There you are, you’re all smooth again.” Q scratched between James’ ears, much to the tom’s delight.

“Huh, he’s kinda cute when he’s not trying to bite off limbs.”

James, hearing Robin’s voice much closer than he expected, froze. His pale eyes slid open from their pleased squint and stared up at the man. His paws clenched and retracted. As quick as the cat could, he rolled from Q’s lap and stood facing the stranger. James didn’t hiss or snarl; he didn’t move towards Robin beyond coming to stand between him and Q. The cat’s eyes followed Robin — intruding as he was on James’ territory — as he gingerly sat on the edge of the bed, hands held up and away.

“Hey, little man.” Robin shifted, “I think we got off on the wrong foot, and I got you a treat to apologize.” The brunette ducked down until he was as close to eye-level with the cat as he could manage. “I’m not going to steal your staff,” he twitched his head towards Q, who frowned.

“Staff?”

“Well, the joke is that dogs have owners and cats have staff.”

Q thought for a moment before humming and nodding, “Alright, I see what you mean.”

“Uh, right, where was I? Oh! Staff! So I’m not going to steal him away; I just want to borrow him now and then. I promise to give him back though.” His grin became so wide and blinding that James took a step back, glancing up at his human as if to say, _‘Really? This guy?’_

Q shrugged and ran a hand down James’ back in consolation.

The big tom waited until Robin’s expression grew strained before padding closer and bopping his paw against the man’s nose. James’ stony expression didn’t change, though he yowled softly. That done, he turned back around and sashayed back to Q. The boffin covered his mouth and nose but couldn't conceal his snort of amusement. James yowled and hopped onto Q's lap where he snuggled in.

The Q rolled his eyes and stared at his guest from over the rim of his glasses. "That's likely the best you're going to get from him."

Robin shrugged, "Which is better than I was expecting." He grinned, "How about that cake?"

\--------------


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cake. Cats. Youtube. Minor (major) regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly sorry this took so long guys, I hit a rather thick depression slump once I was unemployed and my will to write vanished. I hope you enjoy this one and it makes you smile.  
> Who's up for high-on-nip James in the future?

11.

The cake was a hit.

Robin had wisely left the cutting and plating of the cat-treat to Q. The businessman carefully set the low bowl — decorated in pastel coloured fish and kanji — on the table beside James. The cat didn’t watch the bowl, instead keeping his eyes on the human until Q nudged the feline, hard. James turned to his human and yowled, his ears drooping and one paw coming up to bat at Q’s hand.

“Don’t be such a sour puss, James. It was Robin’s idea to get you the cake, so you’d better try it.” Q didn’t back down as James widened his eyes and mewled. “ _James._ ” He huffed and turned back to the treat, head cocking from one shoulder to the next as he inspected what looked like very good Angel Food cake.

Q pulled his phone free of his pocket and scooched over to better see James’ face. He pulled up the camera and hit record. He shared a quick glance with Robin before looking back at the feline.

James sniffed the puffs of cream, the pale and fluffy pastry, and the little decorative red lumps that had been shaped to look like strawberries. As he pulled back, Q strangled a giggle. On the tip of James’ pink nose was a dollop of whipped cream. The golden-furred feline jerked his head back and looked over at Q before he noticed the dot of white blocking his vision. James promptly went cross eyed as he stared down at his nose.

Q snorted and slumped in his seat before rolling sideways to fill the length of the couch, the phone’s camera shaking as he continued to record James attempting to lick his nose clean. The big tom noticed his human’s hitched breathing and scrambled off the table and onto Q’s chest. Neither cat nor owner noticed when Robin plucked the phone from Q’s hand and took over recording.

James crowded Q’s face, one great paw on the young man’s flushed cheek. He yowled and batted at Q’s face a few times before huffing and headbutting the brunette. The dollop of cream transferred from James’ nose to Q’s, and the boffin laughed harder. He wrapped his arms around James’ body and hugged the golden cat close. James bopped Q on the nose and huffed again in retaliation before licking a stripe up from Q’s nose to his hairline, wiping away the cream.

“Aaaaaand posting that to Youtube…”

Q jumped and James growled from within the wiry confines of Q’s arms. Both turned to look at their guest and blinked.

“Damn, should have gotten that, too.”

James rolled his eyes, wriggled free of Q’s hold by shoving the human’s face away with one broad paw, and hopped back onto the table. He gave Robin a half-hearted glare before taking a great bite out of the cat-treat and beginning to purr. The tip of his tail lashed from side to side and he tucked his paws in, getting comfortable.

Q glanced over at Robin, “Tea?”

“I think we’ve earned a cup.”

Grinning, Q stood and turned to fit through the space between the couch arm and the chair Robin had taken. The older man’s arm snaked out and wrapped around Q’s trim waist, pulling the boffin off balance. Q yelped and stumbled onto Robin’s lap, his left knee wedged between Robin’s right thigh and the arm of the chair while his right foot was still planted on the ground. One hand had caught on Robin’s right shoulder, the heel pressing into the top of his pectoral. The other gripped the chair back behind the man’s head, arm straight.

Swirling green met chocolate brown and suddenly the few scant inches between their mouths were a few inches too many. Q let gravity take over until his lips were pressed to Robin’s. His  left hand slid from the couch to wrap about the brunette’s neck, keep him from escaping — not that Robin had intention to escape. Sharply angled lips opened and caught on Q’s dark lower lip, taking it in. Robin lavished the flesh with the tip of his tongue, sucking and nipping alternatively until Q was whining. The boffin’s right hand slid down Robin’s chest and made quick work of his buttons. His fingers were cool as they skated along the tanned skin of the other man’s chest. He teased, dragging his slim fingers and blunt nails back and forth.

Q caught a nipple and tweaked it.

Robin’s hips bucked so fiercely that he nearly dislodged the slim man astride his hips. Q yelped and brought his other knee up onto the chair. He didn’t let up on the nipple and paired it with pointed licks to the line of Robin’s clean-shaven jaw. The brunette groaned, eyes rolled back a bit as Q wound him up.

He bucked again, his left hand finding its way down the back of Q’s trousers to cup one firm buttock and squeezing. Q’s hips jerked forward and their clothed erections brushed, sending sparks down his spine. Robin groaned and Q gasped. The bigger man tugged Q back and latched onto his mouth again, his large hands making quick work of Q’s t-shirt and the button of his jeans. The collar of the shirt caught on Q’s mouth and glasses on its way off, leaving him spluttering and laughing. With a casual flick of the wrist, he tossed the dark cotton shirt over his shoulder onto the table. Robin’s teeth nipped at his collarbone and -

“ _Mroooow!!”_

Q jumped and squeaked - both due to the very near, very loud, and very angry yowling behind him and the sharp pinch of Robin’s teeth against thin skin. The businessman did the same, arms wrapping around Q’s waist and hauling him close in what _may_ have been a protective gesture. Q didn’t appreciate the move, as it nearly put him over the back of the chair. He wriggled in Robin’s hold until he could view the coffee table where he’d tossed his shirt.

Ah.

James stared up at him with a very unhappy face. From the bottom of his chin to his eyebrows was dotted with red bits and cream, and Q’s t-shirt hung around his neck in a queer facsimile of a neckerchief. His blonde ears were pinned back and his whiskers twitched to and fro, mimicking the lashing of his tail. The whitish points of James’ claws flicked in and out of view as he angrily kneaded his paws against the tabletop.

His treat was a smooshed mass of cake and cream, smeared across the table.

“Oh, James…” Q wriggled free of Robin’s hold and turned in the man’s lap to sit on his thighs. Then he leant forward and carefully wiped at James face, wary of the still moving paws and flashes of pointed teeth. “Poor boy, I ruined your treat, I’m sorry.” Q carefully pulled the shirt back over James’ head, the thin fabric catching on his chin and ruffling his fur and ears. James grumbled but soldiered through Q’s mothering. The tom lost his patience when Q made to spit on the corner of his shirt. With a laugh the boffin dodged James’ paw as it batted at his hand.

“Alright, alright, I get it; you’re a big boy and can wash yourself, eh?” His only answer was James’ low grumbling as he set about licking a paw and stroking it over his head. The clearing of Robin’s throat startled the Quartermaster and he jumped. “Crap, sorry.” He turned in Robin’s lap to find the man eyeing him appreciatively. “...What…?”

“Mm? Oh, not much, just having a look-see.” Q hissed a bit and swatted at the other brunette, who caught his hand and gave it a kiss. “None of that, no harm meant.” The pad of this thumb, soft and free of callouses, stroked across Q’s palm, “Just thinking is all.”

“About?”

“Nothing too important actually.” He leant to the side and eyed James, who stared right back. “I have a feeling that I’ll always be competing for your attention.” At Q’s frown he hastened to elaborate, “I don’t necessarily mean that in a bad way, but you and he are far more attached than I thought.” Robin shrugged, free hand rising to settle on Q’s hip, “I think I might be a bit jealous of your cat, actually.”

Q chuckled, “Oh really? I wonder how he feels about that.” The boffin glanced back at James, who promptly began to purr. Q snorted, “I’m going to anthropomorphize and assume that he’s bragging a bit.” Tugging on Robin’s shirt collar he said, “Tea? I think I owe you another cuppa.”

“That would be lovely.”

Q nodded and slid to his feet before padding from the living room and into the kitchen.

Robin eyed James, and James eyed Robin; each doing their damndest to intimidate the other. Robin blinked first. James purred and went back to cleaning his paws, the tip of his tail flicking happily.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James' perspective - because we all need our hearts wrenched now and then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fought with myself over this one. I was advised by several people that adding this chapter would be too repetitious and derail the story, but in the end I decided to include it as this chapter gives a look into James' mind. I hope you have tissues ready.

12.

Bond hadn’t expected to sleep for so long, not after the amount of rest he’d gotten since coming to live with Q. His trip to the office had been blissfully short and in record time the agent had popped back to his flat and packed an overnight bag with more clothes and toiletries. He didn’t expect to need the supplies, but there was something to be said about the preparedness of a double-oh. The agent took a cab back to Q’s flat and snuck back in through the same window he’d left. The bag, along with his suit from the day, were carefully tucked away in the vent, though he stashed his cologne and shaving cream in Q’s medicine cabinet and beneath the sink respectively.

It wouldn’t do for either to get too hot or cold and explode; Bond wasn’t entirely sure how he’d be able to explain away a hidden cache of Tom Ford suits and expensive cologne in his Quartermaster’s flat. He was good, but not _that_ good. He’d showered again and made use of Q’s shampoo and bodywash, humming contentedly. For all his travelling and experiences, James Bond had never enjoyed coconut. He was beginning to change his mind.

He’d fallen into bed in human form with the intention of catching an hour’s sleep before shifting back to his feline form. Apparently Q’s pillows were gateways to Morpheus though, and he slept far longer than intended. The sudden ring of laughter had startled him awake, and the agent spent precious seconds scrambling for a firearm that wasn’t there. Bond took an embarrassingly long time to remember where he’d fallen asleep. He threw the blankets over his head as Q’s voice came closer, heart hammering in his chest. With a harsh breath he forced the shift from human to cat and was left flailing under the weight of the duvet.

It took more effort than he’d ever admit not to gouge out Robin’s eyes as he settled on the edge of Q’s bed - _their_ bed. James was willing to cede that the gentle slide of Q’s palms over his ruffled fur was likely what prevented him from possible mauling and/or murder. Still, he grumbled.

_“...Little man…”_

James bristled, _‘Who does he think he is?!’_  The dark haired man’s wide grin was a little too wide, and James stepped back to press against Q’s thigh. He shot his Quartermaster a look which was returned with a shrug and a placating hand down James’ back. The agent-turned-cat’s mind raced. He considered courses of action, outcomes and probabilities, and what realistically would be the best thing for Q.

James swallowed his pride and stepped forward.

He wouldn’t headbutt this man, that was reserved for people he actually _liked_. Instead the feline bopped his paw against Robin’s nose just hard enough for him to see the jut of James’ claw-tips. As he padded back to Q, the tom made sure to waggle his behind as much as possible.

Just because he wasn’t going to maim the man — because obviously Q wouldn’t be impressed — didn’t mean he had to be nice. After all, no one expected an old, grouchy, stray to be nice. James took his — dubiously — earned reward and snuggled into the valley of Q’s partially crossed legs, belly up and ready to receive pets. If cats could grin, James would have been showing every tooth.

\----------

James liked cake. Bond liked cake. James didn’t like Robin. Bond _really_ didn’t like Robin.

It may have said something about his mental state that he split his experiences between the two halves of him into two names. But what did he care? He was a cat. That being said, neither half of him was too eager to put the admittedly delicious looking pastry into his mouth. He spent enough time deliberating that Q had decided to intervene. Annoyed at being rushed, James yowled at his boffin. His ears drooped and he raised a paw to Q’s hand as if to say, _‘Do I have to?’_  . When playing the ‘fluffy kitten’ card didn’t work, he huffed and went back to contemplating the cake.

A mock-fight later, James was actually debating whether or not to continue driving Robin off.

He really did like cake.

As much as using two names spoke of his mental state, James’ ability to completely relax to the point of distraction around Q said something else. The tom had been so absorbed in his surprisingly tasty treat that, until Q’s shirt pushed his face into the last of the cake, did James notice things had escalated. He stopped breathing for a moment, frozen perfectly still. The pale skin of Q’s back, muscle shifting under thin skin, was too much for James’ brain. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find smoke curling from his ears as his mind ground to a halt, sparking.

 _‘Wait a moment..!’_ James stood and yowled as loudly as he could, _‘Get off! Get off, get off, get off! He’s not yours!’_ He didn’t care about the cream and pastry in his fur, or the way his clenching paws were gouging trails into the wood of the table. It was one thing to step back for Q’s sake, but seeing proof of their entanglement was past any point synonymous with ‘okay’.

He sat through Q’s ministrations, letting the slim man wipe away the remnants of Robin’s peace offering; the rest of it sat like a leaden weight in his belly. James couldn’t stand the view of Q’s chest anymore; the pale skin and faint, pink scars left over from their first night together. He batted away Q’s hands and turned, trying to lose himself in viciously washing his head and paws.

He only looked up at the feeling of eyes on his person. James pointedly stared back, absently following along in the conversation. At hearing his name, the golden feline began to purr as loudly as he could - his version of a triumphant smirk. The staring contest ended with Robin looking away and shifting uncomfortably in his chair. James purred that much louder.

He had to be polite, but no one said anything about him having to be _nice_...

\-----------

Robin didn’t stay much longer, departing within the hour with a promise to call or text Q the next day. As the boffin moved to let Robin out, he passed James. The cat was already sitting on the kitchen table, his ears drooping, tail curled around his paws, and his head down. Q shut the door and turned to face James, visible from the foyer. He gnawed at his lower lip before sighing and striding over to the slumped feline.

With an oof of effort, Q swept the feline from the table and into his arms, face instantly going to the soft fur of James’ belly. James _‘brr’d’_ and wiggled in Q’s arms, wrapping his own around the young man’s head in a rough approximation of a hug. The boffin groaned and squeezed his furry companion once before lowering the heavy body back to the table. With a lick to Q’s forehead, James slid from his arms and sat regally.

Q sighed, “Don’t give me that sad look, you were well enough behaved.” He pecked a kiss to James’ nose. The cat blinked and leant into the touch too late, following Q’s mouth as he retreated. James grumbled and pawed at the air towards Q, _‘Come back!'_ The boffin rolled his eyes and held out a hand to catch James’ raised paw, smirking. “Silly bugger. I think it’s about time for dinner.” He shook James’ paw,  — much to the cat’s confusion — turned, and went about making a light dinner for them both.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q needs more caffeine. Or sleep (they're interchangeable). Bond may or may not be kicking someone's kneecaps in, and there is mention of objects being inserted into orifices that may or may not stretch to accommodate..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the art! It's done by Adreaminglamb on tumblr!  
> http://25.media.tumblr.com/e784c068b6ee5501da9715f9a66710d0/tumblr_n1b5t4In741qaxpvoo2_500.jpg

 

13.

It seemed as though the world was coming apart at its seams.

Government secrets were stolen (again), prompting a manhunt far larger than necessary due to how badly things had gone last time with the _Skyfall_ incident. The United States had detained a set of field agents for causing trouble on American soil (read: explosions and more property damage than should have been possible). The Russians were actively petitioning for the return of one of their own agents who had been compromised during a mission in Ireland (read: getting all chummy with the IRA and no one wanted that shit). And apparently Q was the man to sort it all out.

Obviously no one saw fit to ask _him._

Two missed dates with Robin, the ruination of his parka — to which he blamed the combined forces of James and the wardrobe department —, and the beginnings of a cold later, Q was debating death. Specifically, the death of everyone within a fifty foot radius, double-ohs and minions included. Even M had decided to actively avoid Q-branch (and the wrath of an under-fed, un-rested Quartermaster). Not to mention the minions who had almost-but-not-quite-literally taken to feeding themselves intravenously in order to keep up with their Overlord.

Q repressed a snarl and hastily unlocked his mobile. Another text from Robin, asking when he’d be free, lovely. The man didn’t understand that Q _didn’t have time_. It wasn’t Robin’s fault for lacking the requisite knowledge to even slightly understand Q’s workload; national security took precedence over dating and much needed sex. Q hissed a breath out through his teeth and passive-aggressively told Robin that he would have time to go out when Putin rescinded his Anti-gay legislature.

Though maybe not in as many words.

The boffin tossed his phone into a drawer and slammed it shut before returning his attention to his computer. He absently wiped his nose with his sleeve -grimacing at the snot-trail the motion left- and set to remotely detonating several distractions (read: minor (read:read: still large enough to take out at least one small house) weapons caches). The screen on his far left displayed a map of Panama City, where Bond was racing after his target -and the stolen information- with a bit more gusto than needed.

Not that Q cared; he hoped Bond blew the arsehole up. Or kicked him in the shin, either or.

Bond had left two days after this giant clusterfuck had begun, heading out with only a radio and his Walther. Q had faith in the man. Though, honestly, the issues brought on by Russia and the CIA were bigger priorities. Q banged out a few more commands on his keyboard -stalling the not-so-subtle hack the Russian government had employed- and connected the incoming phone call to his headset before it could even complete its first ring. He had about five minutes before the Russian IT flunkie realized that Q’s commands had sent them tunnelling back into their own servers.

Some days he loved his job.

“Hello Sweetie,” Q grinned and his minions stifled giggles, “How are we today -” He was cut off by a litany of heated Russian, “Ah, well that’s no good. You might want to look into that.” More swearing, “Yes, well, that was neither polite nor physically possible — I would know, I’ve tried — and -” Q cocked his head to the side and began to clap his hands together in mimicry of yapping mouths. “Yes, yes - no, that’s not _at all_ what I said, do listen next time, hmm?” More flapping hands and the occasional _thump_ as one impacted the other.

“Oh, that old thing? Nope, haven’t a clue.” Q mimed a sigh and rolled his eyes, “Not that one either, honestly, I do wonder if you aren’t deaf as well as blind, you old codger.” The cadence of heated Russian had Q raising both brows this time, looking moderately impressed. “Oh dear me, no, I don’t think that would fit. But just so you know, I’ll put it on my to do list for later this month; I believe I have an opening,” he paused to giggle a bit, “on the twenty-third - no? Is that a bad day for you? Tsk, priorities, darling. I can’t up and disappear for three days in the middle of the work week, just because you’d like to insert some dubious materials in intriguing shapes into certain orifices that may or may not be able to stretch to accommodate. These things need to be _planned_!

“Now, daddy has to go play with the Americans, Sweetie, do give us a call once you’ve managed to find the ‘on’ button to your firewalls, yeah? Cheerio and all that!” Q tapped a button and straightened his tie, grinning. “Alright you lot, let’s get a move on; agents to dispose of and/or secret away, moderately friendly countries to terrorize. On you get!”

Between wheezing for breath and rolling across the flooring, the minions somehow went back to their perspective tasks. Q refocused his attention on the Russian hacker with the intent to cause as much trouble and irritation as he could.

Some days he hated his job - though most days it truly was _fun_.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vicks, Ombrah, hallucinated sick-cuddles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly sorry for the wait, I was distracted and I kept harassing Rerumfragmenta to do a sketch for this. Then I realized I'd bombarded her with so many requests that I slouched away in shame.  
> So, this is for rum.

14.

The alarm buzzed and Q was tempted to goad James into finally breaking the damn thing. But his sense of duty won out and he gently relocated the tom from the bedside table where he was preparing to do bodily harm to Q’s alarm clock. James whined and wiggled, pawing at the air towards the clock and looking very disappointed.

“Not today, love. Maybe tomorrow though, we’ll see how I feel.”

James licked Q’s nose and curled into a ball in the human’s vacated warm spot. Q chuckled, though his head protested, and he tucked the cat in. James purred in response.

After nearly falling in the shower — twice — and nearly cracking his head open on the bathroom counter when he tripped on the bath mat Q settled down at his tiny kitchen table with a plate of buttered toast and a mug of strong mint tea. He stuck his head over the cup and inhaled, hoping the mint would soothe both his headache — the paracetamol wasn’t kicking in quickly enough — and the swelling of his sinuses. Q sneezed and stared down at the green globule decorating the tabletop.

That settled it, he was sick.

James, who had jumped up after Q’s sneeze, eyed the globule as though it was something to be wary of — which, given the way Q’s head felt it may have been — and stepped around the blob to sniff at Q’s tea. His ears promptly stood straight up and his eyes widened. He dipped forward and nearly dunked his nose into the cup.

Q grumbled quietly and shoved the cat away, retaking his hunched position over the steaming mug. He was distracted as James nuzzled up against his cheek, giving a soft _‘brr’’_. The young man laughed and shared the minty steam from his cup, pressing a kiss to James’ fuzzy head.

They shared the toast and steam from Q’s tea and soon enough Q was dumping the last of the tea, and the dregs, into the sink. He glanced down at James and ruffled the cat’s head. As he dressed Q spoke to the tom, “Stay home today, James, I don’t think it’ll be a long day today so you might be best off to just have a nap while I’m gone.”

James pouted and mewled, standing on his hind legs to paw at the air as Q left. As the door shut James dropped down to all fours and eyed the canister of loose leaf mint tea on the countertop. He could think of a way to spend his day.

———————————————-

“Q.”

Grunt _._

_“Q.”_

_Grunt._

A sigh, “Q, get out of that chair and go home, you look like death warmed over.”

“...Do not…”

“Do too. Now stop being a baby and go home; I’m getting sick from just looking at you.”

Q groaned and rolled his head against the desk, his sinuses swollen spectacularly. He blinked up at Eve and grimaced, “Only if you take me home, otherwise I won’t make it and you’ll have to explain to James why I’m dead in the gutter.”

Somehow Eve managed to wrangle Q into his parka and with the help of several loyal minions bundled Q into Eve’s car. He fell asleep in the passenger seat and with only a great amount of prompting did Eve manage to get him moving again. The door to Q’s flat came quickly and he fumbled with the key, mumbling instructions to Eve on how to disarm the security as he wasn’t in any state to attempt it himself. Eve went in ahead, leaving Q to stumble in behind her and lean heavily against the door after it closed behind him.

He heard Eve padding through the kitchen in her heels and a sudden gasp. At this point, Q couldn’t have cared if there was an orgy of double-ohs and/or femme fatales in his kitchen; he was too damn tired. But then Eve began to giggle, and there was the tell tale click of her phone shutter several times in rapid successions. That didn’t bode well.

Q groaned and pushed off the door to stumble into his flat, shrugging off his bag and parka and toeing off his shows as he staggered along. Inside the kitchen he paused. He pulled his glasses from his face, rubbed them on his shirt, replaced them, and blinked again. He swallowed, “Eve...Did you kill my cat?”

Eve took a moment to catch her breath from all the giggling before she could answer. “No, but now I wonder if cats can overdose on nip.”

On his back in a pile of dried and crushed green leaves was James, the toes of his front and back paws stretched out and pointed, his head thrown back, curled backwards on his side. The loud rumbling of his purr filled the kitchen and Q stared down at his cat in amazement. He probably hadn’t ever seen James that happy.

“Uh...well shit...what do I do with him now?” Q began to sway on his feet and when he stumbled Eve stopped the recording she was making of James rolling happily in the mint tea leaves.

“Careful there, pet, as light as you are I don’t think I’ll have much luck carrying you if you keel over. How about we get you into a hot bath and while you soak I’ll take care of the addict over there, eh?”

For once Q couldn’t have been happier to have Eve command him. He allowed her to draw his bath, add an obscene amount of Ombra bath liquid — he stripped and lounged over the edge of the tub inhaling the scent of eucalyptus as the water rose once she left — and climbed in to soak as she tended to James and his mess. The bath was hot and the suds prickled against his skin as they withered and popped in the cool air of the washroom. Q inhaled and let his eyes slide shut.

———————

He must have fallen asleep at some point because he woke to Eve jostling his shoulder and a distinct lack of water and suds covering him in the bath. Sluggish and embarrassed — though barely, what with how fuzzy headed he was — Q flailed a bit and snatched the towel Eve handed him. She laughed but didn’t comment, instead helping him up and drying him off. She tucked him into bed wearing a pair of flannel pajamas and gently rubbed Vicks across his chest and throat, under his nose, and in a ‘T’ across his forehead and down his nose. His eyes burned and watered at the smell, but his sinuses didn’t hurt as much. She had somehow dug out his humidifier and set it to full blast on the ground beside his bed, something Q would be eternally grateful for, and before she left she fed him some sinus medication and tucked him in.

Eve made sure that James, still dopey looking, was curled on the pillow beside Q. She kissed his brow, muttered something, and left the flat.

————————————

Q was beginning to look forward to these insomnia-induced hallucinations.

His man-pillow was once again cuddling Q’s limp form, though they seemed to be located on the couch rather than in Q’s bed. The boffin’s head was pillowed on the man’s lap with only a corner of his blanket between his face and the man’s bits. Had Q not been so sick...he might have made a move on the man of his dreams — pun intended. Instead he sighed happily and burrowed further into the warm, firm confines of his pillow’s thigh.

A warm hand with thick fingers wove through Q’s hair, pulling at strands gently and lulling the Quartermaster into a lucid state of what could only be part waking part sleep. a blanket was over Q’s legs and torso and tucked around his neck. In truth, he didn’t usually sleep like this, though the addition of his bed partner certainly made it anything but uncomfortable. In fact, were the man real, Q would have invited him to stay for dinner — at the very least — and in his arms forever at the most.

A warm, deep chuckle issued from the chest of his pillow, the rumble caressing Q’s form like an abstract wave of ease. Without thought Q let darkness claim him and the caressing hands hold him safely.

————————————

He spent the next two days at home, head heavy and aching and the rest of him barely able to function. James was like a shadow; a pale, addicted shadow. Wherever Q was he’d follow and the minute the brunet set himself down the cat would be in his lap to press his nose against whatever part of Q that was slathered in Vicks.

When he wasn’t invading Q’s personal space — he was a cat which meant that such a thing should have been commonplace really — James was torn between bounding around the flat and across the furniture with endless energy and laying in a doped up pile on the rug or the chesterfield along Q’s chest, purring and talking to Q in his multitude of feline noises.

While Q hated being sick, having his addict of a cat keep him company was most certainly a trade off he could handle. The time he spent with James made Q wonder how he had gotten along before the big tom had come into his life. How boring had he been? How lonely had he been that a pushy, needy, grouchy and possessive tomcat had become the highlight of his life? The thoughts were depressing and in Q’s muddled state the only thing that kept his thoughts from continuing their downward spiral into dark waters was the bop of James’ paw on his nose or the eager pink nose nuzzling his for attention.

James truly was a godsend.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cat-sitting. Eve NOT getting laid. James revealing his secret.  
> Ooh lala!  
> Please review and let me know what you think!

James stared at Q. His little kitty jaw swung in the non existent breeze as his eyes flicked between his human and the smirking PA. The feline let out a pitiful yowl and stretched a paw towards Q. The boffin was too busy typing between his keyboard and a tablet and throwing things into a bag -at the same time- to notice.

“Now Eve, I need you feed him twice a day — no more —, and to make sure he doesn’t get into the mint tea again — that was a nightmare only worth repeating when I have a week off and the flat wired to record it. He will eat toast if you put butter or tuna on top, and if you're not careful he’ll stick his whole head into your coffee mug just to get a sip.” Without looking up to see her surprised expression he corrected her, “And no, I didn’t willingly give my cat coffee, he just seems to have come pre-addicted to the stuff.” Q fumbled with his keyboard in an attempt to grab the squeaky mouse from beneath it - one of James’ favourite toys. “And make sure to clean his litter and brush his tail because he’s a lazy little clotpole who can’t be bothered.”

James yowled in protest.

“Don’t you sass me, mister! We both know what you look like without brushing for a week.”

The agent-turned-cat grumbled and hunkered down on the bookshelf across from Q’s desk. His too big ears flattened back and his sleek tail twitched side to side. Alright, so Q may have had a point, but that didn’t mean he should go around _telling_ everyone!

“Q, relax, it’s only for a few days. I can take care of one little cat.” She jerked back as both boffin and cat whipped their heads around to stare at her; James’ glare was slit and angry blue, while Q’s green eyed stare was wide and disbelieving. He snorted. “Seriously! He’s just a cat!” Another snort and an angry yowl from James.

“Suit yourself, Eve, but you’ll see.” Q set down the tablet, zipped up the backpack and strode over to where James was perched. The cat sat up to meet his human, tail straight in the air.

 _‘You don’t have to leave me, Q, I can take care of myself. Better yet, you need_ me _to take care of_ you _.’_ He didn’t like the idea of leaving Q to his own care; the brunette did a terrible job of it on even his most relaxed days, and with this much pressure he’d be hard pressed to even keep hydrated. Sending James home with Eve would complicate things even further.

James Bond’s secret was just that: a secret. Kincaid had known, but that was due to his years of service in the Bond household. M knew, but it was her job to know everything about her agents (though she knew more about her orphans that was strictly necessary). When M had retired she hadn’t shared his secret with Mallory, the new M.

The only other person within MI6 who knew was Alec, and that was only due to nearly twenty years of service together. The other agent had been oddly silent about his living with Q and James was all too aware that eventually he’d be cornered and forced to explain. Hopefully he’d be able to figure out _how_ to explain before that time came; he wasn’t too sure on his reasoning and that itched like a freshly stitched wound.

James’ gaze flicked around Q to Eve, unsure.

Q leant down and pressed a firm, warm kiss to the space between James’ ears. James reciprocated by following Q as he retreated. When the tom couldn’t go any farther he mewled and pawed at the air, toes clenching and splaying apart, _‘Come back!’_ He watched Q blink away a faint sheen of tears and turn to Moneypenny, no doubt plastering an easy smile onto his haggard face.

“He’s all yours, Eve.” Without another word Q snatched the tablet from the desk and scurried from the office.

He left behind one very dejected tomcat and a highly amused PA.

\-----------------

Unlike her first visit Eve would be staying over for this one. Q had apologized for the state of his flat before giving her a frankly unnecessarily modded cellphone and a very bony, very loving, hug. Once the door was open, James wasted no time in darting past her and through the flat — just like last time. She chuckled and followed after, thinking that Q was certainly blowing James’ tendencies out of proportion.

\-------------

She had been wrong. So very, very, wrong. By the morning of the second day she was ready to throw in the metaphorical towel and bribe one of Q’s minions to take the little menace off her hands. The tomcat was an absolute terror; he rolled on everything she owned, snuck bites of her food, slept on her head, drank her coffee, and continually interrupted her baths and showers. James’ most recent transgression was breaking up what could have possibly been a lovely, accompanied evening (cleared with Q, of course). The tom had hassled her date until the man had given up and retreated with a blatant lie to call her later.

Eve slouched in her chair, arms crossed, and glared at the pale terror with as much ferocity as she could muster. And given that Q’s cat had perpetuated her dry spell, there was a veritable fountain of annoyance for her to draw from. If only she’d let the bloody cat leave when he’d wanted to. But _no_ , Q would never forgive her should she let his pet run away. So she’d locked the windows and doors and made sure to keep the feline in sight as much as possible. He was sneaky, but she had something he didn’t.

Thumbs.

James sat on the table before her, ears back, tail twitching. He obviously wanted out, and she’d be damned if she let some spoiled _cat_ beat her. With a growl, Eve sat up and leant into James’ space, noses not quite touching.

“I don’t care what you can get away with when Q’s around, but I’m in charge now, and I say you aren’t leaving.” James huffed, breath smelling of tuna and kibble, and growled lowly. “Don’t sass me, you little brat.” She reached out and poked him in the chest, drawing forth another growl and a twitch. The beast shifted away from the finger, angling his frame so the prominent scar decorating his chest wasn’t as easily reached. Eve narrowed her eyes and followed, tracing the puckered and slightly furred marking with her gaze. It was oddly familiar, the positioning and shape…

Moneypenny snorted and James jerked back, ears flipping up and then back down.

“So, you really are like him.”

One of James’ ears perked up, his head tilting to the side slightly.

“I mean, Q said you were an arse but that’s where he left the similarities.” She flicked a finger towards the scar poking out from between tufts of pale fur, “But you even have some of the same scars as him.” She sat back slightly, eyeing the battlescarred cat. “You really are James Bond.”

The widening of crystalline blue eyes and the dropping of James’ jaw was his reply. The cat worked his mouth a bit, one paw rising only to droop and rise again before returning to the table. He heaved a sigh and leapt from the table. She tracked the Quartermaster’s cat by the point of his tail, sagging slightly, until he disappeared behind the couch.

Eve rolled her eyes and stood, padding into the kitchen with the intent to make herself a midnight snack.

“You always were good at noticing these things.”

The jar of peanut butter impacted the linoleum flooring with a crunch. Eve spun, hand going to one thigh where her miniscule gun was holstered, only to freeze.

_“...James…”_

Double-Oh-Seven smirked at her from the doorway, naked as the day he was born.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve has surprisingly good advice. Bond is grumpy and petulant. Q...is absent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly sorry for the wait folks! Things got busy!  
> Take a look at Adreaminglamb's page on Tumblr for the art she did for me! Fantastic!  
> http://adreaminglamb.tumblr.com/post/77295579354/chibi-q-i-drew-for-salios-and-check-out-her  
> \--------  
> Check the bottom of the page for the art!

16.

Bond probably shouldn’t have enjoyed that as much as he had, but there was something to say about the pure shock his secret being revealed could create.

He held his hands out to Eve; they were as bare as the rest of him and no more a weapon that usual. "I realize I've been a little shit the last few days, but I'd rather not have you leave even more scars." He paused and gave a weak grin, "I imagine that Q wouldn't be too happy if I were dead, either."

With one last lingering look — Bond _was_ naked after all — Eve dropped her hand from her gun and stood straight. She pursed her lips and took the few steps between them before she reached out and cuffed him across the head. "Idiot."

To his credit Bond only squawked and stepped back from her, rather than retaliating. He rubbed the spot where she'd hit him and glowered at her. "Not that you aren't right, but ow."

"Suck it up and be glad I didn't do more than that. I imagine Q would do worse."

Bond frowned, "Which is part of a dilemma I've been having." He turned and left the kitchen, heading to the bedroom and rifling through Q's drawers. He'd snuck a pair of his tracksuit bottoms into the young man's drawers some time ago. Though Bond spent less time alone at Q's than he had expected, often ducking out to the office or work on the rare days he didn't follow Q into the office, it was nice to have his own clothes to lounge in.

He padded back out into the living room, now somewhat dressed, and flopped onto the couch he had grown to call his own. “Anything you want to ask or say? Now would be the time to get it off your chest.”

Eve scowled at him and retook her seat — the peanut butter would wait, and Bond would be the one to clean it up. “How long have you been able to do this,” she waved a hand at him, wiggling her fingers.

“What, look good in a ratty pair of track pants?”

Eve mimed throwing a pillow at him.

Bond laughed, “Okay, okay! I’m assuming you mean the transformation.” She nodded. “It’s something I’ve always done. I was born as a kitten, actually. I inherited this ability from my parents. They were as uninformed as me, though they seemed to believe it was a gift from one of the old gods. It’s come in handy during my time with MI6, though not so much during my days in the Navy.”

“Makes sense, cats aren’t generally fans of open water.” She paused and cocked her head, squinting at him. “Do you have, like, a time of the month or something? you’re forced to change at the light of the full moon?” She waggled his fingers again and grinned. “Does this mean we can have a girls night in if we sync up? Chick flicks, ice cream, ratty jim jams — “

“No, definitely not, I refuse.” Bond squawked and flailed his hands at her, palms out. “Dear lord, woman, stop! It’s nothing like that!”

“Liar! I see you eyeing my double chocolate fudge ice cream when I take it out for a bite.” She laughed.

Bond rolled his eyes and huffed, “Eve, you may be right about me eyeing your diet-breaker, but I wouldn’t be caught dead voluntarily attending a ‘chick flick’...you’d have to twist my arm a little.” He gave her a wry smile and clucked his tongue.

Eve laughed and mock saluted him, “Aye aye, I think I can manage something. Though now onto the hard questions.” She sat back and tucked her legs under her rump. “Who knows? Q?”

Bond shook his head, “No, I...I don’t know how to tell him. I hadn’t intended to get this involved in his life but I have. I meant to stay the night as a cat, maybe a day, and then leave. But…”

“But he loves you and you love him back, and you don’t want to hurt him.”

Bond flushed at EVe’s words and avoided looking at her.

“You’re a knob, James.”

He shrugged, knowing she was right.

“What now, do you plan to stay or are you going to run out one day and never come back? How would you be able to cope seeing him fall apart at work, day after day?”

Bond’s hands clenched until his knuckles popped. “I. Dont. Know.” He hissed through gritted teeth. “It would be disastrous, no matter _how_ I tell him.”

“I think you mean it would be a _cat_ -astrophy.” Giggling like a hyena on speed Eve fell back in her chair. Once she calmed, and Bond had stopped rolling his eyes, she continues. “Well you need to figure it out. You have a chance at happiness here, James, you know as well as I that losing him would ruin you.” Eve shuffled forward to perch on the edge of her chair. “James, you’ve been yourself again since you met him.”

“Eve, I realize I’m a professional spy-slash-assassin and that I often take different personas in my job, but I’ve always been me.”

“That’s a lie and we both know it. You’ve been a shadow of yourself since...her. Being with Q, even as his pet, had brought you back to life. You laugh again, you crack jokes and genuinely seem to be happy. So no, you haven’t been you.”

“You’re not wrong…” He grudgingly replied.

Eve nodded and stood to tower over Bond, even in her bare feet. “Then you’re going to make this work, one way or another. And I refuse to hear anything else on the subject.”

Bond could only stare at her incredulously for a moment before he barked a laugh and leant back against the cushions, grinning. “Alright then, Miss Moneypenny, but you’re helping me.”

“Let’s get to it, then.”

James heaved an exaggerated sigh and flopped back onto the couch, resigned to his fate.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James' dilemma. Eve's Solution. Poor, poor Q.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly sorry for not posting last week. I got distracted >.>  
> As always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!

The next few days were... _interesting_ , to say the least.

Eve made a point of pulling out all the stops on the ‘Bad Cat Joke Express’ until Bond begged her to give it a rest. The two of them spent their evenings watching bad movies in their pajamas, eating greasy food, and plotting the downfall of anyone and everyone in MI6 who had pissed either of them off — starting with M. Eve couldn’t help it if she released the occasional cackle.

“Have you ever pooped in someone’s shoe?”

The question came out of nowhere and Bond nearly spat his scotch across the room. He turned to stare at Eve, who was munching on crisps and smirking. She knew _exactly_ what she had done. Bond mopped up his chin and laughed quietly. “Once, though that was years ago and the officer that received the _squishy pleasure_ most definitely deserved it.” He squinted at her, “Why do you ask...?”

Eve grinned, “Because I can think of at least one superior officer who deserved a squishy, smelly foot bath.”

Bond grinned.

“Now now, it depends on the crime. I could always manage a rather spectacular hairball. Or I could — though I’m not much of a fan of this — spray an office or hallway,” Bond mused.

Eve cackled and Bond joined her.

They spent the rest of the evening planning, plotting, and watching films in which clothing was very _very_ optional. The only thing could have made the evening any better would have been Q. What Bond wouldn’t give to have the brunet curled up in his arms — or lap — and sharing a bowl of buttery popcorn.

————————————

“Right, so tell me what you’ve come up with.”

Bond looked up from his breakfast, the egg sliding from his spoon to land back on the plate with a _‘splat!’_. “Come up with…?”

“For telling Q.” Speaking as though Bond had barely two brain cells to rub together, Eve reclined in her chair in the tiny cafe and eyed him over her cappuccino.

“Nothing worth repeating,” He mumbled and went back to his food. Bond wanted to avoid this discussion for as long as possible — and the confrontation between he and Q even more so.

Eve kicked him.

Bond yelped and dropped his egg for a second time. The glare he shot the PA was venomous though she didn’t seem to care. “Woman, I am trying to eat my breakfast here.” As he made to scoop the egg for a third time he was met with another kick and promptly gave up. “ _What._ ”

“Your plan. Tell it to me.” She looked entirely nonplussed at the subtle threat he was sending her way via his too blue eyes.

Throwing down his spoon and falling back in his chair in what could only be categorized as a pout, Bond glared at her and crossed his arms. “Not a single one does me any good because there’s not a bloody thing that’ll make this seem less like a crack dream or bad acid trip.” He huffed and looked away. After a moment Bond continued, though in a low, defeated tone that Eve was hard pressed to hear over the bustle of the cafe. “No matter how I work out a scenario it ends with Q calling me a liar or outing me, or in some way, shape, or form telling me I’ve ruined his life and that he hates me.” His throat felt swollen and clogged as he tried to swallow. His stomach felt full of maggots and finishing his breakfast was now certainly out of the question.

“Well...we know him well enough that I sincerely doubt he would do any of those things.” As Bond tried to interrupt she shushed him. “James, Q might be a hard ass in the office but we both know how tied he is to you, and what’d he do for you…”

“I think you mean what he’d do for a furry body to be his pillow.” Eve pelted him with a piece of her cereal. “Stop that! Okay, fine fine. But how will he react to finding out that I’ve lied to him for so long? That’s not something he’s about to forget, or ignore.”

“Obviously not, but you need to be prepared for that. You do deserve it after all, for keeping this from him. Hell, I suggest you stalk into his office, lock the door, switch between forms, and then have monkey sex on his desk!”

Bond promptly squawked at her and glanced around. He was less astounded by her casual comment about sex than her — loud — declaration of his dual bodies. A hiss and a glare were his response and she smirked.

“Oh shush, you. No one here gives a shit. And if they did, no one would believe them anyway. Now,” she leant on the table —  elbows to either side of her bust and making for some impressive cleavage —  “Out of all the options you’ve sussed out, which one do you crave the most.” He must have had a very confused look on his face as she rolled her eyes and scooted her chair closer. “James, tch, come off it, we both know you have some fantasy scenario in your head that you’d kill to to play out. Tell me.”

It took him an embarrassingly long time to speak, thoughts swirling around his head and clogging his throat. Bond coughed, “I...I may have already started this, actually.” Eve raised a brow and he continued, “You know how he is when he goes so many days without sleep.” She nodded. “Well, once in a while I can’t help but….switch back...when he’s out cold and we’re cuddling…”

“ _What?_ ”

James winced but continued, rushing through the explanation. “He usually sleeps in his pants, or nothing, and I switch back for a few hours and cuddle him. I don’t do it often, but sometimes he has these terrible nightmares and I can’t just leave him…” He wouldn’t meet Eve’s eyes, instead looking out at the people passing the cafe. “He wakes up most times, but only enough to know something is off, not what specifically. Usually I can coax him back to sleep, so there’s never been an issue, but…”

“But you want him to wake up one morning and realize that he isn’t dreaming it.”

Bond nodded and stared down at his hands; killer’s hands — scarred and rough from years of ending lives and ruining the world at large. “But I doubt that would go over well.”

“And why not.” It wasn’t a question, Eve was challenging him.

“Because no one in the right mind would readily accept that the cat they fell asleep cuddling is indeed the man they woke up next to in the morning.” He huffed and threw his hands up only to bring them down over his face. “Eve,” he mumbled through his fingers, “I’ve gone and fallen in love with my Quartermaster — both halves of me — and I’m too much a bloody coward to do anything about it.”

Mustering a somehow dainty snort Eve nudged him with her foot, “Well at least you’re man enough to admit that you love him. Look, as far as I can tell Q’s been alone for a long time. Add in what looks like a history of being hurt and you have a young man who wants badly to be loved but is afraid to let anyone in.” She reached out and pulled one of his hands away, curling her fingers around Bond’s. “He’s already let you in, and once he gets over the initial shock and you two talk — which you had better — everything will be fine.”

With efficient movements Eve flagged the waiter to order more coffee.

"Now, tell me...just how perky _is_ his arse?"

Bond squawked and proceeded to deny ever taking a look.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The vet. Eve takes a video. A countdown begins. Bond begins to sweat.

The next day, eleven days after the beginning of the clusterfuck that was Q’s job, he sent a text to Eve.

_Need to take James to the vet. Needs shots/check up. Made appt, please txt me amount and doc suggestions, will pay. Give kitty my love — Q_

Eve had gleefully showed Bond the message. She was then hard pressed to apologize at the terrified look on his face. He quickly changed into his cat form and slunk away, belly low, tail tucked between his legs. James hid in Q’s laundry pile and sulked until Eve pulled his barely wriggling form free and plied him with a strong cup of coffee.

James hated the vet, but having two forms meant it was a necessity. And, to make things worse he couldn’t get out of it as Q would expect an invoice as well as a chat with the vet, not to mention any future visits. James sighed and lapped at the coffee Eve had made him, ears back and thoroughly miserable.

—————————————

As per Q’s text he’d set up an appointment and Eve dutifully delivered the grumpy tomcat to the vet’s surgery without complaint. To clarify, _Eve_ didn’t complain. James _did._

From winding about her feet, hiding in various spots around the flat, and generally becoming a nuisance James made it very clear that he wasn’t interested in going. But he sat in Eve’s lap, bundled in one of Q’s cardigans — to which she took numerous pictures and he dutifully posed for each and every one wit the cutest expression he could muster — and let himself be dragged to the vet.

He cuddled in Eve’s arms as she left the cab and tottered into the office on her impossibly tall heels. Everything was different from his perspective as a cat. As such James poked his head up over Eve’s shoulder and stared around, his ears swivelling back and forth.

They checked in and the vet tech took his weight a whopping 12.2kg. Eve was given a dirty look for fattening him up and James got a belly rub. After that they were ushered into a side room with a metal table and James hopped onto it under his own power. He took great delight in sharpening his claws against the steel and watching Eve’s pained expression at each tinny screech.

When the vet arrived though, the tables turned.

Eve pulled out her phone immediately and began taking a video.

James gulped but let the trained professional check him over with deft, ungloved hands. The vet’s hands were warm and James let himself sink into the soft strokes that smoothed his fur. He likely fell into a happy-cat doze, which was understandable, but was abruptly woken by the vet pressing a hand to his scruff and grabbing a handful to hold James to the table. Next was the press of a _very_ cold, slim object against his arsehole. James’ eyes went wide and he struggled to the best of his ability within the vet’s rigid grip.

James’ claws unsheathed and scrabbled against the steel tabletop. He yowled and hissed, staring at Eve with wide, pleading eyes.

_‘Mrooooooowwwww!’_

Eve snickered and gave him a look that was more amusement that actual sympathy. She continued recording. James moved her up a few slots on his kill list.

Eventually the vet had the reading required and swiftly dodged away from the spitting tomcat with the promise to return momentarily with the results. The vet’s return was accompanied with several syringes which James was subjected to, though the cat glared at the vet the entire time. Once completed James was given a small bowl of kibble and a few treats. Eve was instructed on when the tom would need to return for further shots and a check up, though she primly told the vet that she was only filling in for James’ owner and would send along his recommendations.

After that things moved quickly and Eve found herself with a lapful of grumpy tomcat in a cab heading home.

——————————

The last day and a bit before Q returned home was…tense.

James was eager to see Q whereas Bond was more than a little frightened at the prospect of educating the Quartermaster on what he was. There were dozens of scenarios that paraded through Bond’s head and few of them had any good result. To make matters worse, Eve had hidden his scotch.

The PA in question was sitting across from Bond in her chosen seat. She was slowly reading through some paperwork she’d taken home and periodically glancing up from the legal babble to check in on the morose-agent-who-was-sometimes-a-cat. Finally, after several hours of neither of them getting anything done, she clicked her tongue, put aside the paperwork, and stood. She flopped back down across Bond’s legs, prompting the agent to grunt, and pinned him with her best stare.

“Go on then, tell us what’s on your mind.”

Bond scowled. “Nothing you haven’t already heard, Moneypenny.”

She rolled her eyes, “Regardless, talk to me. I know what’s going through that thick head of yours, I just need to know how far you’ve gotten in figuring it out.”

With a great groan Bond sat up and retrieved his legs from beneath Moneypenny’s reclined form. “I’m going to tell him.” Eve’s eyes lit up. “Though at the rate I’m going it might be a decade or more from now.” Her face fell. “I can’t decide if I need to spring it on him or work something out in my human form and hope that revealing my secret won’t ruin any kind of relationship we could make.” Bond sighed and wiped a hand down his face. “God, relationships are far too difficult. I’d rather dismantle the entirety of the Soviet and Middle Eastern nuclear weapons caches instead.”

Eve did laugh at this. “I vote you wine and dine him before springing this on him. That way he’ll know you’re serious. It’ll make things a bit difficult if you surprise him and _then_ ask to hop into bed with him. Trust me, Q’s just as interested in you as you are in him.”

“And this information is gathered from _where_ exactly?”

“Oh, you know, here and there. He and I are rather close; things tend to be said over a bottle of wine...or three.” She smirked and nudged him, “Ask Q out for dinner when he gets back, work out something as men and see how well you work together. You already know you can live together,” she ignored Bond’s muttering of, _‘As a bloody cat,’_ and continued on, “So now all that’s left is to see if you can hold a romantic relationship.”

“...Alright, I see your point, but — “

“Oh bugger off, Bond. I’m booking you dinner reservations the night after tomorrow for you and he so get your shit together.”

“And how do you know he’ll be home by then?” He snarked, hoping to put her off.

Eve smiled and countered, “Because he sent me a text this morning telling me so. Apparently everything’s been taken care of — except paperwork. Therefore, he’ll be home tomorrow night after every ‘I’ has been dotted. And, going on that as well as the knowledge that he’s spent nearly two weeks cleaning up this mess, I can safely assume that he will be free for at least one night.” Having sufficiently cowed the agent, Eve smiled brightly and went to bed.

Bond lay on the couch for the rest of the night, staring at the ceiling and wondering if he truly was as cowardly as he felt.

  



	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minion rumours. Eve being Eve. Not quite porn. Terrible terrible angst.  
> I'm not sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I feel awful for the lack of updates. So much so that this chapter ?(about 1,900 words) is being paired with the next (3,000ish) for a giant one.  
> Don't ever say I don't love you.  
> And if anyone ever feels like sketching this I'll love you forever.  
> ***On a side note, the Mandarin that Q swears in means 'holy testicle Tuesday' and is taken from Firefly.

19.

He was. Cowardly, that was. Bond was most certainly a coward when it came to confronting his Quartermaster not only about his secret but also about his...feelings… Bond gagged at the word. He then promptly glared at the Q-branch employees that had turned to eye him oddly.

They quickly found something else to stare at.

Bond was perched against the bottom railing of the staircase that led up to Q’s office, dressed to kill — though in this case not literally, for once. His plan of asking Q out to dinner was so far at a dead stop. He’s gotten as far as getting dressed and making his way into the branch but apparently a short flight of stairs would be his undoing.

The blond stuck his right thumb in his mouth and began to gnaw at the nail. Did he dare go up there now? Or should he wait until the office had cleared out? Shit…

A buzz in his pocket made Bond blink. With his free hand he tugged his mobile out and checked the screen. Bugger...an email from Eve.

_ Bad timing but you’re out again tonight. Orders came in before the fiasco, only just being passed down. Will be briefed enroute. See Q. _

James’ mouth twisted in a snarl and he bit down on his nail. Goddammit. Sure he had been dragging his feet but that didn’t mean — 

A hot puff of breath against his ear had James stiffening.

“You look as though you’re looking for an escape route.” 

Bond spun around and stared down. Q smiled up at him, eyes twinkling. With slim, careful hands the brunet reached up to take Bond’s hand from his mouth, eyeing the ragged nail. He tsk’d. “Terrible habit, that.”

“What, and my other habits aren’t?” Bond snorted.

Q laughed, “Well, yes, you certainly seem to pick the most deadly hobbies.” His mouth quirked in a grin. “But as I can’t control your womanizing, boozing, or tendency to get into trouble with terrorists — not from lack of trying, mind you — I can at least bother you about this one.” Q’s long fingers stroked over the captured thumb, though he didn’t seem to notice. “Stubborn man, you are.”

The agent had to admit that Q wasn’t wrong.

“Now, what has you glaring at my office this time, especially since I’m not in it.”

“Cheeky,” Bond grumbled. “I wanted to talk to you, actually.”

Q’s brows rose, “Oh? Well then, step into my parlour.” He made a grand, sweeping gesture before leading Bond up the stairs.

The office door was closed and locked after they entered. Bond sat across from Q and eyed the man. He looked ragged, exhausted, and forlorn.

“Did someone fill your mug with English Breakfast instead of Earl Grey, Quartermaster?”

Q jumped and looked up into amused blue eyes. His cheeks flushed and he coughed, embarrassed at being caught off guard. “My minions know better than that, agent. I merely have a lot on my mind is all.” He glanced down at his desk and tapped a few keys. “Is there something you need, Double-Oh-Seven?”

Bond chuckled, a noise that sounded all too similar to James’ rumbling purr. “I’m to leave for Dubai in a few hours; I’m assuming you have some kit for me?” His smirk was in place when Q looked up, frowning.

“I haven’t yet received anything detailing a new mission, Bond. Are you certain you’re slated for active service? Maybe your dementia has finally begun to set in.” Q absently flicked through his emails looking for a mission dossier. Nope, nope, not it, nope, junk, junk, ju - oh, there it was. He double clicked the file and skimmed through, humming.

“I take it you’ve found the brief then?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes; it seems that one of the interns didn’t properly label the notice. My filter caught the email and held it in limbo. This was sent...” Q squinted at the screen and adjusted his glasses, “Huh, it was sent over a week ago. Odd.” He shrugged and hit print. A few long strides took the tech around his desk to the printer on the far wall where he grabbed the papers and spun on one heel. His face all but impacted Bond’s chin. “ **_ Shun-SHENG duh gao-WAHN! _ ** **” He yelped and jumped away, his tailbone impacting the edge of the bookcase behind him.

A pair of broad hands grabbed Q’s biceps and steadied the young man. Q winced and glanced up to find Bond watching him with undisguised concern. The hacker straightened and the double-oh took a step back. He grinned, “I didn’t think you knew Mandarin, Q. Now I know where to come when looking to brush up.” He chuckled when Q scowled and stepped aside for the Quartermaster to skim past him. “Am I getting anything good for this mission? A new Walther, maybe another miniature radio? Oh! What about an exploding pen, you know how much I love a good explosion.”

Q actually paused mid stride to turn and stare at Bond over one shoulder. His glasses had slipped down the bridge of his nose. He blinked wide, startled eyes and snorted. A small grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. Q kept walking, the vicious killing machine following the hacker with a bounce in his step. “Bond, did someone feed you another prototype? I warned you not to accept food or drink from my minions. We’re like the Sidhe here; you take favours or sustenance from us and you’ll never ever leave.” Q cackled a bit at that. He stopped, blinked, and pushed his glasses up his nose. Apparently he was less rested than he’d thought. He could usually keep the cackling internal. He glanced back at Bond who was staring at the brunette with wide, startled eyes. The Quartermaster grinned again and continued walking. Though really, it was more a skip than a walk.

A few steps behind, Bond chuckled.

\--------

Bond followed Q from his office, down the stairs and through a door situated across the bunker. They passed several glass and steel rooms on the way; R&D. Q let himself into a room using his badge, a typed password, and a retinal scan. The agent shook his head and followed the Quartermaster. The room was tall but thin and lined with stainless steel drawers. Many were the dimensions of a shoe box while several looked as though they could house a rifle with room to spare. 

Without pausing the brunet moved to a section of drawers and pulled free two boxes. From one he pulled a gun, likely Bond’s palm-printed Walther, and from the other a radio similar to the one Q had first given him. The agent took each from the other man, habitually checking the sights and for the three lights to glow green. They did, and he hummed, pleased. Bond tucked the Walther into his shoulder holster. The radio he slipped into a pocket. 

Q groaned and mumbled, “Twenty-thousand pound radio and he can’t even — augh!” The Quartermaster rolled his eyes and locked up the drawer.

\---------------- 

(Because I feel bad for the lack of updates, here, have a double)

\------------------

 

For some reason, Q hadn't taken into account that Bond did indeed have time to kill before he needed to catch his flight. Maybe Q needed more tea...or was that sleep? He could never tell what was the correct word to fill the blanks with. 'Sleep' and 'caffeine' were interchangeable in his mind.

 

Bond followed the Quartermaster back to his office, gesturing at the slightly weaving figure as it ascended the staircase and motioning for a nearby minion to procure some caffeine. The young woman giggled and flitted off towards the break room. Bond smirked, ‘Too easy’.

 

When he caught up to Q, the younger man had both hands braced on his desk, staring down at the printouts spread across the wooden surface. Or, he would have been, had the papers not been upside down with his glasses acting as a paperweight. His back was arched out, head of shaggy curls hanging limply from his shoulders.

 

"Q, are you alright? You look as though a weak breeze could do you in." Bond carefully stepped up beside Q and ducked his head in an attempt to see the other man's face. The curtain of dark hair blocked Q's eyes, but his darkly flushed mouth was visible; lips barely parted. "Talk to me Q. What do you need?" He swallowed, "I can't very well have my boffin working at half capacity whilst leading me through a war zone, now can I?" The joke was dry in delivery, though Bond's mouth did twitch towards a frown.

 

Q sighed, "I'm fine, Double-Oh-Seven, I merely have some personal...issues... I apologise." Q's voice was tired and he sagged slightly only to right himself before Bond could attempt to assist. "If that is all, agent, I have other tasks in which to attend." As far as dismissals from Q went, this was on par with fluffy kittens in a basket...the kind with bows on their tails.

 

Bond hesitated for just a moment, long enough to take in the strain of Q's shoulders and the subtle quiver of his hands. Then he gently wrapped the width of one broad palm across the back of Q's neck and squeezed. The younger man groaned and all but collapsed onto the desk. His legs had the consistency of jelly. Startled, Bond wrapped his other arm around Q's slim waist and essentially carried him over to the conveniently placed futon. Q went without protest and Bond wondered if he'd fallen unconscious.

 

Upon reaching the futon Q detached himself from Bond and fell to the worn cotton cushion. There was a whoosh of air and a pleased groan before Q slumped forward again. The agent rolled his eyes and nudged Q until the hacker was perched, precariously, on the edge of the futon rather than the deep trench of the frame’s spine. Bond slipped in behind the Quartermaster and bracketed the younger man’s frame with thick thighs. At the touch of Bond’s body Q started and made to get up. Bond tsk’d and tugged Q back.

 

A moment of stiff refusal passed before Q simply gave up. He slumped in place, head dropping to hang back down. Bond hummed and brushed aside the curls of hair against the back of Q’s neck, enjoying the brief shiver the brush of his warm fingers elicited. Finding no argument from the man nestled between his thighs, Bond put both broad hands to the crux of Q’s neck and shoulders and squeezed.

 

Q’s eyes popped open only to slam shut again, the firm press and roll of Bond’s fingers into the knotted muscle of his shoulders was decadent. It was indecent, as was the strangled, pleasured sound that crawled its way free from the brunette’s throat. His right hand made to rise, intending to cover his mouth and maybe even bite down to muffle further indignations. Another squeeze and pull from Bond’s fingers waylaid the motion and Q’s eyes actually crossed.

 

“...Bloody h’ell...” He managed to choke out. Bond was close enough for Q to feel the man chuckle. The rumbling sound was familiar, the vibration comforting against his spine. Q sighed and leant back slightly, pressing his body further into the blonde’s grasp. ‘When in Rome...’

 

“When was the last time you had someone do this for you, hmm?” Q’s reply was slow in coming, and more of a mumble than actual words. “Hmm? What was that?”

 

Q huffed and leant slightly to one side to encourage Bond’s hands to move in that direction. He adjusted his grip and coaxed another near purr from the hacker. “...Not like this...”

 

“How so? At work? On a futon? Sitting up rather than on your belly with someone straddling your thighs?” Q’s shoulders twitched and Bond spied a sudden flush creep its way over the man’s ears and jaw.

 

“My cat...he, uh, he likes to pet my hair...bloody beast attaches himself like a limpet whenever I sit still.” Q rolled his head once. His movements were slow and gentle enough that he didn’t dislodge Bond, though the back of his head did brush against the larger man’s hands. His eyes were closed, mouth parted just a touch. “Mmm, he’s a grumpy thing, but very sweet when he wants to be.” A dry chuckle, “Sometimes he tries to groom me and then realizes, after becoming rather indignant, that I have far too much hair for him to properly attend to. He actually smacked me once, as if it were my fault he’d made a fool.”

 

Bond’s fingers found a knot just below the uppermost knob of Q’s spine, to the right and beside his shoulder blade. The calloused tips of experienced fingers began to dig, his other hand still clasping Q’s left shoulder and continuing to rub in circles. The first press of stiff fingers made Q hiss and arch away, to which Bond wrapped his left arm around the Quartermaster’s waist and drew him back. The second time the fingers dug into Q’s flesh and twisted his mouth dropped open and breathy whine fell free.

 

“There we are, Q. You’ll be jelly by the time I’m done with you.” Q very much liked the sound of that. Though, what Bond meant and what Q wanted him to mean were really two very separate things. Therefore he scrunched his eyes shut and grunted. Bond chuckled and kept up the press and pull of his fingers. His left arm came back up to the side of Q’s neck where it resumed it’s lighter massage. “Don’t stop now, you seemed to be getting to the good part.”

 

Q’s frazzled brain took a moment to process that Bond was indeed looking for a response. “Ah, what?”

 

“Your cat; the grumpy yet sweet thing that seems to have a fascination with your hair? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about him already!” Bond chuckled, even as Q’s elbow came back to weakly jab him in the stomach.

 

“Shut it. You’re lucky I can string together a sentence at all right now with you doing tha -” the word trailed off into a squeak. Q’s back arched, chest out and head falling back toward Bond. “...That...” He straightened (slumped) again and took a breath. “Right then, cat, uhhh… Right, well, I think he likes it when I use his belly for a pillow. Or a blindfold, either seems to work well enough. I’ll just plop my face down and he kind of, I don’t know, sticks his paws in my hair? Have you ever had a cat massage? It’s rather underrated if I’m to be honest. Hmm, must be the little toes, though sometimes his claws come out; which really isn’t so bad so long as he doesn’t aim to make a pincushion of me.” Q winced and Bond paused, hands light.

 

“Alright there?”

 

“Oh, yes, I’m fine. Just remembering something is all.” Q leant into Bond’s hands, urging him to continue. The blonde did so, only to switch sides, his left hand finding another knot further down between two ribs. Q groaned and did his best to stay upright against the force of Bond’s rolling knuckles.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Ah, well, the morning after I brought him home my alarm went off and scared the poor bugger half to death.” He huffed and the indrawn breath caught as Bond’s middle knuckle twisted. “Ah - he scratched me all to hell. I had to toss out my favourite shirt and bottoms; I couldn’t get the blood out.” The hacker shrugged only to regret the movement as it shifted the angle of the agent’s ministrations from pleasure/pain to pain. A broad palm was quick to smoothe over the agitated muscle. “He’s been much more careful since. Honestly, he’s more or less been an angel since I brought him home. Actually, wait, that’s a lie; he shredded a pair of my trousers that one day I was forcefully ejected from MI6.”

 

Q grunted as one broad palm pressed between his shoulderblades until the brunette was bent over, chest parallel to his thighs. Q grumbled because he felt ridiculous. Bond grinned like the cat who’d caught the canary, Q’s bottom a perfect fit to the apex of his legs. Q folded his arms and lay down his head facing off to the side. The double-oh went to work on Q’s shoulders again, a knuckle on either side of his spine occasionally dragging down and then back up.

 

Bond’s voice was a low rumble, “And what, pray tell, did you do to be sent home, Quartermaster? Did you by chance make good on those threats about Moneypenny’s computer?” It was common knowledge that Q and Moneypenny were constantly pranking each other; little things that, while annoying, weren’t overly disruptive. Eve had once changed out Q’s tea with decaf, upping the ante and prompting the young man to swear revenge.

 

Q chuckled, his torso rocking slightly. “Not yet, no, I’m saving that for later, I think. No, I might have, ah, forgotten to eat for a few days...and you know, slept...” He mumbled the words out, cheeks heating in a furious blush. It was one thing to be aware of his own shortcomings, it was an entirely different manner to admit them to someone who was both a colleague and a subordinate in turn. ‘And the man you fancy,’ whispered a corner of Q’s mind, which he promptly stomped down on and then tossed into a mental volcano. “I was handling a mission with Double-Oh-Two. Nothing too dangerous, merely testing out some new equipment while he did recon. I, err, passed out and dashed my head against the desk. It left a rather attractive mark.”

 

Bond’s hands disappeared from Q’s back and the young man whined. He lifted his head to check on the blonde only to jolt as Bond’s hand impacted the back of his head in a light swat. Q squawked.

 

“You’re a bloody idiot, Q,” Bond grumbled. He continued to mutter angrily under his breath but returned to working out Q’s knots with gusto. Q winced at one particularly sharp dig; possibly too much gusto. Bond sighed, “You need to stop being a knob and take better care of yourself. I told you already; I can’t have you trying to keep me from getting shot, or worse, if you’re going to keel over all on your own at the same time.” The hands on Q’s back noticeably slowed and became softer in their massage. “At the very least, eat something now and then. Hell, if it comes to it I might just have to take you home, tie you up, and force feed you whatever I can manage to cobble together from your flat...Do you even have food at your flat? Other than pot noodles and tea?” One thick finger jabbed at Q’s side and he squawked again, twitching away.

 

“Yes, yes! I do have more than bloody pot noodles, you arse!” Q huffed, “I have toast...and tuna...though I think if you try to take the tuna from Ja - er, my cat he might be willing to trade you his breakfast for a finger if you’re willing to make that deal.” Q grimaced and buried his face into the shelter of his arms.

 

“You named your cat Jay?” Q could hear the raised brow. “Rather unoriginal for you, Quartermaster. I would have expected something decidedly fantastic or obscure. Maybe the name of some long-forgotten Dalek or maybe some noble from a fantasy novel.” Bond’s hands trailed from Q’s shoulder blades, down either side of his spine on flat palms, to meet at the jut of his tailbone. His rough fingers drew across the peekaboo of bare skin and Q shivered.

 

The hacker, feeling far more embarrassed than he had in quite some time, wriggled until he could step (re: fall) away from Bond. A few unsteady strides took him away from the futon and he turned, adjusting his shirt. Q scowled and stretched his arms out behind him; his hands joined and he stretched backwards, spine arching in mimicry of a pulled bow and string. Then, when it seemed as though Q couldn’t have gone any farther he jerked slightly. His torso rotated in the tiniest of twists and the room filled with the sound of popping, shifting vertebrae.

 

Bond jerked away and scowled.

 

Q rotated his arms and repeated the process with both shoulders and then his neck. Once done he brushed his hair back and smirked. Bond scowled again. The blonde stood from the futon, apparently the furniture’s own gravitational pull having no effect. Two steps took him back in Q’s personal space and he leant in. Wide, curious green eyes only slightly glazed stared back at him.

 

The shorter man huffed, “What?”

 

Bond smirked, “Jay, really? You couldn’t do better than that?” At Q’s annoyed growl he laughed.

 

“It’s short for, well, the rest of his name. Which, by the way, is none of your business.” Looking only slightly ruffled with his wrinkled shirt and flyaway hair, the brunette stepped back and around Bond towards his desk. “Thank you for that, Bond. Do check in once you’ve landed, hmm?”

 

Now that was more the dismissal Bond had been expecting. Grin not leaving his face, Bond gave the slightest of bows to Q’s back. “Of course, Q. Have a good day, and - do get some sleep.”

 

He was out the door before Q could properly aim his pencil stand to throw.

 

\----------

 

The rest of Q’s day went by quickly, for which he was thankful. Not that he would admit this to Bond, but the massage he’d given Q had done wonders for his energy. He’d also eaten a rather obscene amount of food; something else he would rather not admit to Bond. The man would likely just smirk and become even more insufferable. Q wasn’t slated  to oversee Bond’s mission, though his minions had most certainly done their best to bribe him. One had even gone out and procured a large Skor cupcake. Q had taken his time dissecting the treat before telling the minions that, no, he still wasn’t going to take over. He had left the branch grinning like the Cheshire cat and waving wildly. All he had received were death glares and tear-stained stares.

 

Sometimes it was good to be Overlord.

 

\----------

 

“James! I’m home! You missed a good day, you little bugger! You could have gotten belly rubs!”

 

James wasn’t curled up on the sofa or chairs and he wasn’t in the loo off from the living room, or Q’s home office. Which left the bedroom. It was very likely the tomcat had gotten himself into a bit of a snit after refusing to join Q at work and had made himself a nest of blankets in which to sulk. The sulking and nest had happened before, the refusal not so much. “James? Are you in here, pretty boy?” Q’s bed was unmade, as usual, but there weren’t any distinctive cat-shaped lumps. He ruffled the blankets and sheets to find nothing. His hamper was lacking in grumpy, sleepy cats as well. Frowning, he returned to the living room and set about making himself a cuppa, hands distractedly pulling the heated iron kettle from the hob.

 

That was about when he noticed the open window.

The kettle of scalding water slipped from Q’s hand and he juggled it. The liquid spilled across his hands, delicate pads of his fingers blistering as they caught the bottom of the kettle and then tossed it. He swore and bit his lip. Tears began to gather at the corners of his eyes and Q sniffed them back. He glanced up at the open window once more before hobbling to the loo and the first aid kit.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst. Angst. Angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't have feels from this chapter I don't want to talk to you.  
> /wipes at eyes from writing it.  
> Hint: the next is somehow worse...

His fingers were done for. Well...at least for what he needed them for, which was almost everything. Thankfully, in a fit of boredom some years ago during uni exams and late night cramming, Q had taught himself to text with his toes.

_Monypeny, need hlp with somfink. Pls come ASAP. Use spare. Oww. - Q_

Not his most eloquent work, but the garbled text had been enough for the PA to make the trip to Q’s flat in half the regular time. She had let herself in to find Q sprawled across his bed playing _Candy Crush_ with his toes. He’s grinned meekly at her askance glare and held up his frankly terrible looking hands.

\---------

While proficient in social situations and minor medical work both, Eve somehow managed to botch everything up when she combined the two. Between bandaging Q’s hands from forearm to fingertips in erratic wraps and too much salve, she’d nearly brought him to tears twice. Once by smacking the back of one abused hand, and once by ranting about James. Furry James, specifically..

Q sat in the living room with a lukewarm sippy-cup of tea balanced between his kneecaps, occasionally glancing over at Moneypenny. The woman looked as though someone had stepped on her tail. Her fingers drummed on the armrest of her chair and her eyes were narrowed to slits. Her mischievous smirk had even been replaced by a bloodless pursing of her lips. Q glanced back down at his tea and sipped carefully.

“And he’s just gone then?”

Q nodded, not trusting his voice. For one reason his throat was hoarse from the number of screams and yells pulled forth from Eve’s doctoring. Secondly because the thought of James being gone forever was enough to make him cry. He cleared his throat and took another sip.

Eve sighed, “He couldn’t have gone far, lovely. You’re on the third floor. Cat or no, that’s a long drop.” Q winced. “I went and checked, no furry smears on the pavement so he’s alive.” She shook her bushy hair, “Couldn’t have gone with a goldfish or a pet rock, could you.”

Q sunk further into the couch.

“It’ll work out, he’ll be back. And if not,” Q’s heart clenched and he drew in farther. “If not, then we’ll find you another, yeah?” They both knew he wouldn’t be able to replace James. He’d even grown on Moneypenny. The big tomcat had a personality that should have made him unbearable. But the moments of snuggling and the loyalty he showed to Q was worth more than some pretty housecat.

Q bit his lip and stared at his cup.

\----------------------------

Eve took the liberty of calling into MI6 for Q. Tanner told her that Q wasn’t to return to work until completely healed, no matter how testy he got. She ferried him to and from A&E, as he refused to be subjected to Medical unless absolutely necessary, and stayed at his flat for a little more than a week.

While she wasn’t James, Eve’s presence kept Q from getting too depressed. She put up with his lack of bathing the first few days; his hands were far too blistered to attempt washing his hair and as much as he liked Eve, he never wanted her to see his bits and pieces. Sometimes, when Q wasn’t paying close enough attention, Eve would managed to spritz the hacker with cologne before he could get away.

As much as he disliked having a ‘fanboy forcefield’ there were limits to what he was willing to go through. Having a co-worker douse him in some other bloke’s cologne was far, _far_ past the point of being ‘okay’. Eve helped him dress and most days would hand him a cup of Listerine to wash the fur from his tongue. Not literally as James wasn’t back to stick a paw in Q’s mouth; his version of an alarm clock. Other days she left Q to sleep in and subsequently stumble about in whatever clothing he’d fallen asleep wearing the night before.

By the second half of the second week his hands had healed enough for Eve to spend most nights at her own flat. She chided him for being stubborn and continued to come over after work and feed him, though not literally anymore. Q was on his second chicken and feta pita when Eve thought to be social.

“Bond should be back in a few days.”

The brunette looked up from his food and licked his lips to catch the few crumbs of feta that had almost escaped ( _almost_ ). Only now having any practical use of his hands returned, Q hadn’t shaved in two weeks. Eve had certainly offered, but even with a modern razor he wasn’t comfortable letting an (ex) field agent anywhere near his throat with a sharp piece of metal. Absently rubbing the back of one hand against his new beard-bearing chin, Q raised one brow.

Eve rolled her eyes, “You know he’ll head right for your branch. It’s as though terrorizing your department and annoying you personally have moved up to second place of his list of favourite things.” She dodged the thrown piece of chicken and laughed.

“Bloody wanker, he really has nothing better to do with his time, does he?” Though his tone was aggravated, Q grinned.

“Nope, not for as long as I’ve known him. Which, really, if you think about it, is kind of sweet.” Q sputtered and coughed, food going down the wrong pipe. He carefully thumped a fist against his chest and glared at her. Eyes watering, the brunette flipped Eve the bird and went back to choking. “Really! For most of us he’s frosty or seductive, nothing in between. But since the _Skyfall_ incident you and he have become all _chummy_.”

“If that’s what you call chummy, I’m afraid to ask about _friendly_.” Q finished choking on his meal and swallowed. He gave a one-eyed grimace and carefully dropped the soggy remains of his dinner to the paper plate. Drips of sauce and feta stained the front of his shirt. “Really, Eve, I think you’re blowing this out of proportion. He’s probably just bored and knows my minions are infatuated with him.”

“Really.” She arched a brow, sarcasm pouring from her lips.

“Really really.”

“Then explain to me what happened in your office the day he left for this mission.” Q’s jaw dropped and he stared at her. Eve smirked back. She reclined against the other sofa arm and crossed her ankles primly. “Go on then, give me a better explanation as to that thing he did to you on the futon.” As Q’s flush deepened Eve’s smirk widened. “Did you lose a microchip down the back of your shirt somehow? Maybe you needed him to check your trousers for listening devices. Or! Maybe he - “

“ ** _Ching-wah TSAO duh liou mahng!_ ** Did he fucking _tell_ you?!”

Eve cackled. “Not so much. He sent one of your minions to fetch you tea and she came back right when you were, and I quote, ‘bent over and moaning while Mr. Bond did delicious things to you from behind.’ See, your minions are good for _something_.”

Cheeks aflame, Q hunched over and crossed his arms. “That wasn’t meant to happen. And no one was supposed to ever know! How is anyone going to take me seriously after this?!” He glared at the PA with real worry in his eyes.

Q’s job was difficult enough due to his age. He didn’t have the same military background most of the agents he worked with did. He was qualified, more so than just about every other candidate for the position. But being so young, as well as the impression of fragility his slim frame implied, it took a lot for Q to be taken seriously. A minion spreading rumours about Q and Bond would only make it even more difficult. He sighed and stood from the couch.

“Maybe I could...I...fuck...” The hacker shook his head, carefully carded back his hair and slouched around the couch. “I’m going to change out of this.”

Eve hummed and stretched, pulling a small bottle from her pocket with a menacing smirk. As Q passed her on his way she whipped the bottle forward and quickly depressed the plunger twice. The sharp, spicy scent of cologne filled the room and Q coughed, glaring at her.

“Seriously?! I can fucking bathe already! Stop fucking soaking me in some bloke’s cologne!” He wiped at his neck and jumped back from the third shot, which still managed to leave a wet spot on his throat. Q growled.

“Sweetheart, I don’t trust you to shower for at _least_ two more days. And let’s be honest, even though you aren’t the overweight and sweaty type of boffin, you aren’t the nicest smelling flower around.” She giggled at Q’s double-bird, allowing the young man to stalk off, unamused.

Her eyes strayed to take in the room. Under the assumption that James had made use of the window to escape, the brunette had left it cracked. His hope was for James to find his way back inside. As put-together as he seemed, the boffin wasn’t dealing with James’ disappearance well. There was one blanket across from the couch, settled into a nest on one chair. The black fabric had swirls of pale fur as decoration and was shaped to accommodate something cat-sized. James’ water and food dishes were full and his litter was fresh and clean. For all intents the feline had never left.

_Skitch, skitch._

Eve blinked. She glanced around. The window was still open, untouched. Q’s phone was tucked away in his bedroom and the door was still open. She frowned and carefully stood. Her right hand went to her thigh and hiked up her skirt. She rested the palm of her hand against the hilt of the knife strapped there and followed the sound.

_Skitch, skitch, skitch, skitch..._

Careful, measured steps took the agent from the living room, through the kitchen, and down the short hallway to Q’s front door. She paused there and cocked her head, listening. The sound stopped for a moment, replaced by the sound of soft footfalls. Q padded up behind her, shirtless and wearing loose pajama bottoms.

_Skitch, skitch, skitch, skitchskitchskitchskitch..._

He frowned and glanced from her, to the door, and back.

Eve quirked her head towards the door and drew the knife. She took two steps back and to the side. Once the door was opened she would have enough space to first mark a potential target and, if need be, attack. The angle she stood at, away from the door and behind the frame, meant a direct attack from a possible enemy wouldn’t be focused on her entirely.

Q carefully wrapped one hand around the doorknob, the other soundlessly pulling open the chain. He watched her, and on the count of three he pulled. The door opened seamlessly and smoothly. No one occupied the space outside his apartment door, and for a moment he frowned, sticking his head out to look down either side of the hall.

“ _Mmmrrrah...?”_

Q blinked and looked down.

Standing on three paws, his tail crooked and a bloody tear in one ear, was James.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaangst  
> I warned you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, if you aren't sniffling after this I don't want to talk to you.  
> Comments always appreciated!

It took the cat another pained mewl and a step that was more a hop, given that _two_ paws were injured, not just one, for Q to move. He cried out wordlessly and fell to his knees, hands quickly and carefully reaching out to gather the battered tomcat into his arms. James mewled and licked Q’s chin. His sandpapery tongue wiped away salty tears as the young man began to cry, cradling his mangled friend to his chest.

Eve had to coax Q to his feet and then inside. She sat them both down on the couch and fetched the first aid kit. Aside from his cut paws, sprained tail, and torn ear, the cat had several wounds that would possibly need stitches.

While she searched for and found the bag, Q drew himself into a ball around James’ prone form. His shoulders shook with sobs and the tips of his bandaged fingers carefully stroked along the matted fur atop James’ head.

“Y-you stupid bugger. Why did you have to g-go and l-leave? What did I do wrong? I didn’t m-mean it, whatever it w-was.” Q sniffled and hiccupped. He pressed a kiss to James’ bloody head and the cat mewled. “Don’t,” _sniff,_ “Do that again,” _sniff,_ “You stupid, fucking cat.” He sobbed again and hugged James closely.

James only mewled and sank further into Q’s trembling embrace.

\----------------

James barely moved as Eve stitched him up and splinted his tail; Q’s hands were still too injured for any fine motor skills. The moment she attempted to remove him from his owner’s arms though, he hissed and took a swipe at her with razor sharp, intact claws. The pale tomcat lashed his tail once, yowled in pain, and went back to hissing at her. The hacker had only protested wordlessly and cradled James closer. His eyes begged Eve not to take James away.

Eve sighed and gave up trying to separate the two. Really, they were absolutely pitiful and she refused to be the cause of any more pain for either of them. She ruffled Q’s mop of hair and stalked on quiet feet back into the kitchen. Procuring a bowl and hot water, Eve snatched a packet of unopened tea-towels from a drawer and returned to the living room.

Q had shifted so that James could comfortably curl up in the loose circle of his thin legs. The feline had his bloodied head resting on one thigh, a paw pressed to Q’s sunken stomach. Injuries aside, Q hadn’t been much for food since James’ disappearance. His already slim frame had lost what little weight that kept him on the ‘healthy’ side of tiny, rather than the ‘unhealthy’ side. The tomcat was crooning at his owner, ears flattened. Q’s return smile was watery and exhausted.

Carefully setting down the bowl, Eve settled down onto the coffee table and popped open the package. While she had cleaned James’ wounds with wipes from the first aid kit before stitching them, the cat’s fur was still a bloodied mess. She dipped one end of a towel into the bowl of hot water and squeezed out the excess.

“Q, I need you to hold him still.” Both males’ heads popped up to stare at her. James growled and Q stroked down one side, avoiding wounds, some of which were held together by butterfly clips. “We need to get as much of that blood out as we can before it dries. I don’t imagine you want him to stay stewing in his own filth, hmm?” James yowled angrily only to be shushed.

“I, I guess not, no. But are you sure I can’t...?”

Eve shook her head, “Your hands are still too damaged. You can eat and dress, but I don’t want you to get the skin wet and have it pruning. Besides, the heat of the water wouldn’t help either.” She smiled gently at Q, and then at James, who was looking back and forth between her and his human.

_“Meerryah?”_ James staggered onto his hind paws, fronts carefully steadying his abused body against Q’s chest. He paused at Q’s neck, cocked his head to the side, and sniffed the hollow of the hacker’s throat. Getting a noseful of the cologne, James jerked back, ears perked straight up, and stared at Q, his mouth hanging open slightly. The cat's expression was vaguely awed.

Q smiled down at the tomcat and bent forward until he could bump their foreheads together.

Eve bit her lip. “Q, stay _right there_. No moving, at all. Don’t let James sit back down either!” At Q’s hummed response Eve stood and scampered to her coat, thrown across one of the kitchen chairs. She fished out her cellphone, an expensive custom model that Q had made for her; the camera, like everything else the young man produced, was phenomenal. On swift toes she returned and squatted. With a few presses she pulled up the camera and began to snap pictures.

James, hearing the shutter sounds, tilted his head to watch her, frowning as best a cat could. Then, to Eve’s disbelief, the tomcat pushed back to balance on his hind paws, wrapped the toes of his two front paws around the bottom of Q’s glasses, and pushed the spectacles up onto the brunette’s head. The Quartermaster merely stared at his cat, awed.

Eve kept shooting.

James _burr’d_ and nudged Q’s nose. Being the genius he was, Q took the hint and dropped his head back down with a chuckle. The tomcat purred loudly and pressed up into the touch. Slim, bandaged hands came up to wrap around James’ furry, bloody body and held the cat upright.

Neither seemed to care that Eve had all but melted from the overload of ‘cute’.

\---------------------------

After cleaning James as best they could, and uploading the plethora of photos onto Q’s home cloud network, Eve left for home. She promised to come by after work the next day with dinner and, with a gentle pat to James’ now clean head, made plans.

“Now, make sure he eats, you hear me? He’s far too skinny and has barely touched anything I’ve given him since you left. Can you do that for me? Can you take care of our Q?”

_“Mrrrrrraaaaaaaaah!”_ James looked torn between indignant at her asking in the first place, and rather pleased at his so-called mission.

Eve chuckled and pressed a kiss to James’ silken head, only slightly tinged pink from what blood they hadn’t gotten out in time. “Alright then, big man, you behave!”

James carefully returned to the ground from his perch atop the kitchen table. He was careful to avoid use of his right front paw, though the impact of hitting the ground still made him hiss. Q tottered by, already swooning from the day’s exertion, and double-checked the door before arming his security. He turned and stared down at the tomcat, features sleepy and soft. “Coming to bed then? I...I’ve missed you...”

James _burr’d_ again before skittering off on three unsteady paws towards the bedroom. Q’s laugh trailed after him. The world didn’t seem so empty anymore.

\---------------

Q, like every day before James had disappeared, woke to find himself surrounded by sleek golden fur. He blinked, grinned, and snuggled back into his pillow. James bopped a paw against his head, grumbled, and curled in closer. Q chuckled and slid his left hand up past his face, along the pillow, to carefully scratch at James exposed chest.

That earned him kisses.

\------------

It was another three days before Tanner allowed Q to return to MI6. Q's hands were mostly healed, and though he would need to avoid any fine detail work, the hacker was more than ready to be busy again. James, on the other hand, was still rather sad to look at. Q, with a combination of heavy blankets, tuna, and swift feet managed to skitter through his front door and close it in time to hear the telltale _thump_ of a cranky tomcat impacting the other side. James yowled from behind the door and Q beat a hasty escape.

He would need to make it up to James after.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is -definitely- over Robin. Which is perfect because Bond is done waiting.

It was encroaching upon one p.m. when Bond returned from his mission. His suit was new and clean; a sign that MI6 hadn't been his first stop that day. The cuts across his face and bare hands and the subtle stiffness as he moved meant the mission had ended as the majority of the agent’s missions did. Bond limped a bit as he made his way through the sea of minions. Q tracked the agent’s progress absently until he was through the farm and up the stairs leading to the Quartermaster's office. Really, he resembled a shark cutting through water with how the mass of busy people made way for his bulk. Bond's face was strained and haggard, which made Q again thankful that his space was nearly a storey above the rest of Q-branch.

Bond stopped just inside the threshold of Q’s office, silent.

The hacker waited a few moments before acknowledging the double-oh, his body facing towards his computer chair opposite the desk, back to the agent and the door. "I see most of you came back from your latest trip. Tell me, how was it?" Q didn't need Bond to tell him how it had gone; he could tell just by looking that 'bad' wasn't a strong enough adjective.

"Painless as always, Q. It's a shame you couldn't come along; the sun would have done wonders for your complexion. Maybe it would have helped clear up those spots."

Q _didn't_ attempt to rip out Bond's throat, though it was a near thing. Instead he looked down at his laptop screen as his fingers began the motions that would eventually end in him mangling the cyber security of some minor terrorist group instead. ‘ _It's your own damn fault for not being prepared to defend against me today. Hah.’_ “And what, end up looking like an old leather shoe, like you?” Q’s tiny grin was vicious.

The puff of hot air against Q’s nape made the hacker freeze. His shoulders went rigid, hands pausing mid-keystroke. The man’s green eyes went wide behind his glasses and he gulped. ‘ _Right, sass isn’t always best; need to remember that.’_ Bond’s voice was a low growl against Q’s back. Gulping slowly, the brunette straightened and pulled in every shred of composure he could muster. Which, to be honest, wasn’t much. He swallowed and turned carefully.

Bond’s massive frame was scant inches away; his pale eyes burning with inner fire. Q honestly wasn’t sure whether to run or drop to his knees. His mind and body agreed that while the second produced many delicious thoughts, the first was better for his survival. His jaw worked a few times only to produce nothing by way of speech. When the agent leant forward to bracket Q’s slim frame between thickly muscled limbs, the brunette squeaked. The hacker shifted back until his arse was pressed against his desk, wide eyed, and Bond followed.

"Ah, Bond, I-I'm not sure how they raise hellsp - er, _children_ in Scotland, but in England we have this thing called 'personal space'. Maybe you should try it sometime." Q swallowed; ‘ _Right, back to that thing about sass_.’ The double-oh was so close that Q could actually count how many tiny, _tiny_ freckles Bond had across his cheeks and nose. There was just enough time for the boffin's panicked mind to reach forty-two, which incidentally was the answer to the question of life, the universe, and everything, before Bond went in for the kill.

And by kill, he really meant kiss.

Q managed another squeak at the first press of surprisingly soft lips before his eyes slammed shut. Bond was warm, akin to a furnace. Which, really, was fantastic given that Q could barely produce his own body heat some days; it was hit and miss.

Bond's forward momentum knocked Q off balance. His left hand shot up to wrap around the back of Bond's neck while his right went behind his body, searching for support. His shaky fingers instead found Bond's warm hand. Feeling the tentative touch of cool fingers, the man raised and spread his fingers to lace them together with Q's.

The kiss wasn't the kind of heavy, erotic thing he'd expected; the kinds of which his imagination conjured and then used to wake him for a particularly good wank. Instead it was soft and warm, with just enough pressure to be _there_ and allow the brunette the option of ending it if he so chose. Q didn't, but it was a nice thought - one he really would need to revisit later.

Bond pulled back first, giving a quick peck to Q's lips before fully withdrawing. His pale, _pale_ eyes watched the smaller man with gentle warmth. Q's face felt hot and he absently licked his lips. Blue eyes tracked the movement of his tongue.

They remained that way until Q's usually impressive mind caught up. "So...um...hi?" ‘ _Right, there you are, terribly seductive, that.’_ Q beat his inner voice into a bloody pulp... Again...

Bond chuckled and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. A smile, not a smirk; which was something. "Hello," his warm breath tickled against Q's mouth and the hacker could swear his flush deepened. He could likely infiltrate an Italian terrorist group and/or Mafia as a tomato at this point. If, you know, he wanted to... Did that even make sense?

Bond chuckled again, tongue coming out to swipe a line across his own lower lip. Q was enthralled by the light pink appendage. His mind supplied two dozen delicious _dirty_ things he'd like to do with, or have done by, that tongue. Q blinked, _‘Wait, no, bad brain!’_

"Uhh..." There were likely red and flashing 'warning' signs going off in his head at this point. He hadn't had this much trouble stringing a sentence together since receiving his first blow job. Wait, shit, _not_ the direction he wanted his mind to run in.

"Q, is this going to happen every time I kiss you?"

Q blinked, "...Maybe..?" He paused, “...You mean this might happen again?”

The tiny smile widened into a hungry smirk then, "Oh, lovely. I'm looking forward to that; I plan on kissing you many more times." Bond leant back in for another sweet kiss, head tilted slightly, and Q could have died happy.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Innuendos. Innuendos everywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, terribly sorry I made you all wait on this! Things happened, incluidng but not limited to:  
> -got my degree  
> -depression slump (boo)  
> -went to Italy!  
>  -met rum! Double yay!!  
> -angsted about terribly attractive men
> 
> So here's another chapter, enjoy! As always, kudos and comments (especially comments!) make my day.   
> Thanks!

Bond kissed Q for a few more moments, until he had bodily lifted the branch head onto his desk top, spread Q's thighs, and pressed in close. Q hummed into the kiss and locked his ankles against the small of Bond’s back. He squeezed the agent closer and Bond groaned, nipping at Q’s lips. The press of Q’s heels aggravated the injury to his lower back and prompted a strong, deep ache. But that was easily put aside in the face of such sweet touches from his Quartermaster.

The brunette pressed into the kiss and rolled his hips as much as he could manage. The slide of groin to groin sent a sharp spike of pleasure up Q’s spine. His mouth dropped open to allow a whine to escape. Bond took advantage of the opening and licked inside.

From behind the two men, atop the table, there was a single beep, then two more, and then three. The bursts of high pitched sound rang out quicker and quicker. Neither men paid it much attention — not until the warning klaxons began to sound. The sirens wailed and the phone shook. Bond’s teeth sunk into Q’s lower lip and the brunette yelped. In one smooth movement the agent tightened his arms around Q’s torso and lifted him from the desk, stepping away.

Had he been wrapped around the field agent in such a way at any other time — and without clothing — Q would have been ecstatic.

The painful dig of Bond’s fingertips against the soft flesh of his sides wasn’t appreciated though. Q gasped and arched, trying to escape the man’s grip. Bond glared back at the phone. He growled, low and angry. Q whimpered. The agent was strong, and the hacker was fairly fragile in comparison. He knew with certainty there would be finger-shaped bruises along his ribs within the hour.

“Bond!” Q’s pained yelp caught the agent’s attention and the grip loosened. He panted and shakily unhooked his legs, forcing the double-oh to either support all of Q’s less than formidable weight or to let go. He chose to let the younger man’s slim frame slide from his grasp, pale eyes watching. Q touched one of his sides and hissed.

“I’m sorry, Q, I hadn’t meant to hurt you.” The soft tone was apologetic and Q pursed his lips.

“It’s fine, Bond, don’t worry about it.” He stepped from the loose circle of Bond’s arms and back to the desk. He skirted the edge and fell into his chair on the opposite side. A few deft presses to the smartphone and Q pulled up the alert that had broken up their petting session. “Hmm, I need to cut this short. Three has gotten himself into trouble again and the minions are panicking.” He chewed his lower lip and glanced up at Bond. The man hadn’t yet adjusted his ruffled shirt and suit jacket, and there was a rather obscene bulge tenting the front of his trousers. Q blushed and looked back at his phone. He swallowed, “Go visit Medical and finish your debrief. I should, hopefully, be done by the time you’ve completed your after-mission duties.” Q glanced back up, taking pains to focus on the other man’s haggard face rather than the delectable shape his body made.

Slowly, Bond nodded, “Alright then, Quartermaster. I’ll hold you to it.” He adjusted the seams of his shirt and jacket. Q swallowed, taking in the line of tanned flesh along Bond’s neck and the expanse of clavicle bared by the three open buttons. Suddenly very grateful for his desk, the boffin’s flush deepened and he gulped. His eyes not leaving Q’s, Bond reached down with one broad palm, cupped his rather attractive erection through the stretch of his trousers, and gave it a quick squeeze.

Q whimpered and bit his thumb.

Bond must have been enjoying the attention. He stroked a line from the base, up to the tip, squeezed, and then stroked back down. Q's face was flushed and hot, his free hand slipping down to grip his own erection through the starched fabric of his slacks. He mewled, both at the touch of his palm and at how the double-oh gave his length another squeeze before shifting and tucking it off to the side. Q whined petulantly when the blond pulled his jacket shut and did up the buttons, locking his cover in place.

Double-Oh-Seven gave Q one more appraising look and a smirk before spinning on his heel and sauntering from the boffin's office. Q blinked, gurgled a protest, and then flopped back in his chair. The bulge of his erection twitched, mockingly.

\--------------

When Q saw Bond next, the older man was sporting a plaster over the shell of one ear and bandages across his palms. While he still moved stiffly there was a sway to his walk that spoke of _very_ good painkillers. The agent leant against Q’s doorframe, watching the boffin as he finished paperwork. Though both of the visitor chairs were vacant, Bond remained at the door. Eventually Q waved him in. The blond padded over to Q’s desk, spine stiff, his gait slightly uneven. The Quartermaster narrowed his eyes, taking in Bond’s form, speculating on hidden injuries.

“Agent.”

“Quartermaster,” his grin was weak, but natural. Bond seemed genuinely happy to see Q.

“I’m almost done here, why don’t you have a seat?” Q watched the agent’s face, catching how he winced and shifted his weight.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not. Road rash isn’t too nice a thing.”

This time Q winced, he’d gotten road rash once or twice in his younger years — his dumber years. “I’ll wrap this up quickly then. Did you need anything before we go?”

One brow rose, “Q, it’s barely four in the afternoon; are you sick? Did Moneypenny threaten you with another shopping trip?”

Q blanched, “Thank god no! I don’t imagine I’d make it through another afternoon shopping with her, let alone a day. No, I merely have some personal matters I’d rather tend to before sunrise.”

“Pardon?”

He sighed, “Right, they certainly gave you the better painkillers this time ‘round, which ones were they? We both know I wouldn’t normally be pried from my Hobbit hole were it not my own decision.”

“Did something come up then? We could always reschedule,” Bond paused as Q waved a hand, forestalling anything else he might have said.

“It’s perfectly fine. Nothing too time sensitive; I merely need to be out of here sooner rather than later.” The brunette shut down his laptop before slipping it into his satchel. His parka was tugged on before snatching the bag strap and striding towards Bond. “Ready then?”

The agent blinked, startled. “That was quick. I expected another hour or two to make plans. You’ve thrown me off course, Quartermaster!” Bond smirked.

“It’s only fair turnabout, yeah?” Q grinned back at him, going as far as to wink at the agent on his way past the man. He flipped off his lights and Bond closed the door behind them both. The trek down the stairs was slow — Q took his time, chatting about nothing to give the impression that _Bond_ was waiting for _him_ and not the other way around. As they reached the foot of the stairs, the double-oh flashed Q a grateful smile. The boffin looked away, cheeks slightly flushed. They chatted on their way through MI6 and out onto the street where they paused.

“I, ah, hadn’t actually considered what to do next — if I’m completely honest.”

Bond grinned at Q, taking in the embarrassed flush to his cheeks. “Not a problem, Q. How does dinner sound?”

“Fabulous, actually. I didn’t think to eat today; I had too much to catch up on.”

Eyes falling to Q’s still bandaged hands, Bond frowned, “What did you do to yourself?”

Q coughed and looked away from the agent, avoiding his intense stare. “Nothing...”

Bond stepped into Q's personal space, crowding the younger man and preventing him from escaping the question. " _Q_..." Even the agent's tone, low and patient, spoke of his unwillingness to let the boffin scamper without answering.

Q scowled and swatted at the agent, who dodged with a grin. He winced slightly at the twist the movement made of his torso and Q answered Bond’s question as an apology. "My cat went missing. It bothered me a lot more than I'd expected. I was in the middle of pouring water for tea and thought that, maybe, then would be a good time to play 'keep-up' with the kettle." He grimaced and looked down at his hands. "I couldn't do a bloody thing for myself. Tanner banned me from MI6 until I was fully healed and sicced Moneypenny on me to make sure of it. I can't say I've been that stir crazy, or smelled that terrible, since uni." Bond chuckled and Q followed suit. "He came back home last night, a right mess."

"Any idea what happened?"

"Not a one, but he's about in the same condition you are. Poor thing, his head is even pinkish! He has a very light blond coat and I think he was tottering around covered in blood for a while. We couldn't get it all out. A few washes more and he should be fine in that regard though."

Bond quirked a brow, "I thought all cats hated getting wet? Do you drug him?"

Q stuck out his tongue. "He's an odd one, sure, but he likes to snuggle in the shower. It’s terribly exasperating, especially the first time when I nearly bloodied my scalp on the floor; but it’s quirks like those that have made me love him so much.” He shrugged, smiling faintly.

Bond's other brow flew up and his eyes widened, shocked. For the life of him, Q couldn’t imagine _why_ that would startle the agent, and if not the professing of his love for an irritable tomcat then Q had no idea as to the cause for the double-oh’s exclamation. “So, food?”

The agent blinked, a bit thrown, before nodding enthusiastically. "What are you feeling like? We can take it to my place — I assume my flat is a bit closer than yours?"

The boffin snorted, "Likely, it takes over an hour on the Tube to get in from mine." He made a point of looking over Bond's tense form. "Though I don't think our evening will end the same way we expected it to." The blond frowned and Q continued hastily, attempting to placate his dinner partner. "I want to, I really, _really_ do. But I'd rather you heal a bit first."

"I'm perfectly capable of sex as I am, Q. If you think some _scrapes_ -"

"Not what I meant!" Q held his hands up, "What I mean to say is that I'd rather wait because, as much as I'd love to continue our earlier plans — " He flushed. " — If I injured you further just for sex I’d feel absolutely terrible.” He smiled placatingly, “And besides, I, ah, have something I’d like to ask.” He scratched the back of his head, cheeks flushed and eyes averted.

Bond didn’t say anything for a moment before nodding. “Right then, food first, then talking? Or would you rather try both simultaneously?”

“I’m rather good at talking with my mouth full, so both works for me.” Q missed the surprised, sultry look that Bond shot him, instead walking ahead.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mmm, teriyaki. Feelings. Cuddles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so incredibly sorry this took so long for me to put up. I had some troubles and then every time I made to work on this fic I felt worse and worse about not updating, which...made me not work on it.
> 
> So here, have a chapter!

The two men were quick to grab some Japanese takeaway before making the short trek to Bond’s flat. As expected, the place was upscale, fully furnished, and felt as though no one lived there. Q was reluctant to remove his parka, the empty-feeling space giving him chills. But when Bond gently tugged at the arms he allowed the agent to remove the coat and hang it up. Q took a seat in the living room on a too clean couch while Bond remained standing. The agent leant against the wall across from Q, wincing slightly. They made small talk as they ate; Q showed off his ability to ‘chipmunk’ a large portion of food into one cheek without ever distorting his speech.

Bond was rather impressed. And aroused, but that was to be expected and he told Q as much.

“Those questions you had...”

Q looked up from his chicken teriyaki, chopsticks filled with sprouts and dripping with sauce. He tucked the mouthful away and hurriedly chewed, tucking a bit into his cheek before swallowing the majority.

“What’s on your mind, Q?”

Q’s cheeks pinkened and he shrugged, “Just, you know...”

“I don’t think I do.”

Q sighed, chewed the last of the food and swallowed. He put his container and chopsticks on the coffee table and tucked his feet under him. Only then did he clasp his hands together and met Bond’s eyes. “This thing, you and I,” Bond raised a brow, “I need to know if it’s purely sex that you want. I’m not nearly as good as you when it comes to people, in fact I’m rather terrible with people. I’d like to know, bluntly, what you want from me.”

Bond didn’t respond for a moment. He chewed his food and watched Q quietly, bright eyes searching the young man’s face. Q did his best to hide the anxiety swarming beneath his skin. It was all well and good to be interested in someone, even someone like Bond, but to get this far only to find the agent uninterested in more than a few hours in bed would hurt. A lot. Q swallowed, throat thick, mouth dry. Bond did the same as Q, finishing his mouthful and putting away his container, the tabs that would make up the lid just brushing Q’s. He pushed away from the wall and crossed the four feet that separated them. He leant down and gently, carefully, pressed his mouth to Q’s.

Q’s eyes slid shut and his breathing faltered. He hadn’t been kissed quite like this before. Bond’s lips were very warm and slightly chapped. But they caressed his slowly and without pressure. He didn’t push forward or move to deepen the kiss, and his tongue remained firmly within his own mouth. After a moment Bond pulled back so he could see Q’s face. One of his hands was braced on the armrest against Q’s right side, the other along the back of the couch.      

“I wouldn’t want to presume,” his breath, smelling of sweet sauce and spicy vegetables, ghosted across Q’s mouth as he spoke, “That you’d want any more from me than anyone else.”

Q blinked, startled. Bond thought _Q_ only wanted sex? Was that it?

The agent continued, shifting slightly to see more of Q. “I would like to know the answers to the exact same questions you seem to have, Q. What do _you_ want with _me_?”

A breath passed through Q’s lips and stroked across Bond’s mouth. “More than sex.” The agent cocked his head minutely but didn’t respond otherwise. “I do like sex, very much so. But what I’d like is more, ah, domestic, if you will. Someone to curl up to at night, to keep me sane when I feel as though the world is about to pull me apart at the seams and scatter me to the corners of the universe. Someone to entertain me and challenge my mind and to allow me to do the same to them.

“Someone to make me laugh when nothing goes right and all I want to do is cry. Or, if laughing is a bad idea, then to let me fall apart and afterwards put me back together. It’s... It’s a lot, I know, but -”

Bond leant forward and kissed Q again, cutting off his oncoming rambling and pressing the younger man back into the couch. Q squeaked a bit but went with it. His left hand clasped the back of Bond’s neck, his right fisting a handful of designer dress shirt. Bond was just as sweet and careful with this kiss as his last. Only this had more heat, more pressure, and Q couldn’t help but press back.

When they broke apart this time, both men were panting. Q’s heart was beating so strongly he expected Bond to have some witty comment prepared. Instead, he stared down at the brunet with wide, happy eyes.

“So, uh, that’s good then, I think?”

Bond chuckled, “Perfect. I don’t think you missed anything. Well, you did, but I think I already knew you’d like to include sex somewhere along the line.” Q huffed and squeezed the back of Bond’s neck. The big man groaned and slouched into Q.

Q squawked as he suddenly found himself with a lap of blond agent. Bond’s head dropped into the loose circle created by Q’s legs, Q’s hand still attached to his neck. “Bond? _”_ The Quartermaster squeaked, face burning hot.

The puddle of agent groaned. His face nuzzled against the closest part of Q, which was unfortunately his crotch. _Any other time and dear **god** the things I’d do to him. **Any. Other. Time.**_ Q tugged his right hand free from Bond’s shirt and carefully carded his fingers through the man’s pale blond hair. The strands were so light Q almost missed the smattering of silver and white. _Lucky._

“Oi, don’t die on me, Bond.” He paused, “I mean that literally and figuratively, I hope you know.” Bond responded by groaning again and nuzzling closer. Q swore and squeezed the agent’s neck again. Rather than the intended response of the double-oh attempting to get away, he seemed to melt further. Q sighed and let go of the man’s warm nape. “You really are bloody heavy; though I expect you already know that.” There was a warm puff of air as Bond huffed and the man sluggishly pulled himself upright. He groaned again and rolled his shoulders, his very broad, very tanned, very - Q took a mallet to his libido again.

He grinned sheepishly up at the brunet. “That’s a rather sensitive spot, and were it anyone but you I’d of broken their nose. But,” he swallowed, eyes flicking away and back. “But I trust you, and figured you wouldn’t mind too much were I to melt in your arms.” He smiled at Q, who was very hard pressed not to melt himself. Bond shifted from his sprawl to kneel before Q on the floor.

“Huh, uh, well then. I’ll keep that in mind. Anything else I should know?” He’d meant it as a joke.

“Well, I rather like belly-rubs.” At Q’s perplexed, askance stare, Bond laughed. “I’m not joking; there are few things better than hands scratching your scalp or running across your stomach. _Especially_ after a full meal. Mmm.” He narrowed his eyes and hummed, staring at Q.

“W-what...?” Q didn’t like that look. That look meant trouble — for _him_. That was the kind of look Bond got when he was pondering just how explosive something could be, or his chances of surviving a particularly bad decision. Q was rather familiar with that expression.

“Could I possibly entreat you to do that now?”

“Do...what...?” Q was rather unnerved, still.

“Take a guess.” He leant in close, the tips of their noses not quite touching. Q went cross eyed through his glasses. “Please?”

The Quartermaster considered it for a moment before deciding that, ultimately giving the delectable agent in his lap a belly rub didn’t sound too bad. “Ah, alright... But no drooling. Jam- er, my cat tends to drool when I do this for him. He seems to enjoy my horrified expressions.”

The agent grinned and carefully got to his feet, wincing slightly regardless. He helped Q up and tugged the brunet down the hall and into his bedroom. The bed was massive with a pale blue, feather-down duvet and matching sheets. Bond was quick to shed his dress shirt and tie before crawling onto the bed. His belt went over the side of the grand mattress almost as an afterthought.

Q was left standing at the foot of his — what, boyfriend? Lover? Not-quite-casual-fuck? —  bed. His hands wrung themselves nervously and he couldn’t help but look around the lavish room and only to feel rather out of place. He tugged at his shirt cuffs and chewed his lower lip.

“Q.”

The Quartermaster jumped before snapping his gaze over to Bond. The man lay across the center of the bed, two thick pillows under his head. He held out a hand and crooked two fingers at the brunet, urging him closer. Q swallowed and crawled up onto the bed, cutting off a squeak as he began to sink.

“Jesus, what do you sleep on, quicksand?!”

Bond laughed but didn’t comment. Q continued up towards the agent until his back was pressed comfortably to the padded headboard. Bond wriggled over until his face was against the outside curve of Q’s right thigh, his back arched slightly as his torso draped across the slim man’s thighs. Overall, the position didn’t look to be at all comfortable, especially with Bond’s admitted injuries. But his face told a different story. His vibrant eyes were hidden behind closed lids and pale, fluttering lashes. His breathing was smooth and steady, and the hand that came to rest on Q’s knee was warm.

Q lifted one hand and carefully ran the unbandaged tips of his fingers across the expanse of Bond's stomach. The agent hummed appreciatively. Mindful of his still-sore digits, Q continued to drag the pads of his fingers across tanned, scarred flesh. At each flex and inhale his fingers would dip into the grooves of well developed muscle.

When Bond had gotten enough attention to one area he shifted, putting another part of his body beneath Q’s hands. This meant that, eventually, Q was laying flat on his back. Bond fell asleep with his cheek pillowed on Q’s chest, pale lashes fluttering against his cheeks. Q rested his hand on the back of Bond’s neck and fell asleep like that, fingers sweeping gently back and forth.


End file.
